Always Wrong - Xyla Turner Page 0,36

her into doing what I want. It was true, but that is just who I was. What I was not was someone that was going to allow her to keep texting me when I wanted to talk.

Me: You’re avoiding me again

I finally said after a week and a half.

Sheryl: No, just busy

Me: Remember, no games Sheryl. I won’t have it.

Sheryl: I’m going through some things, Jacquez, and I don’t want to talk.

Me: I’m not okay with that.

Sheryl: That’s not my problem.

Me: Pick up the bloody phone

Sheryl: I already told you how I felt. Be patient for once in your life. When I get it together, I will reach out. Until then, do not surprise me, do not come. Just let me get myself together

That was a long text, and I felt every word of it. She was upset, hurt, frustrated, and reflecting. Why wouldn’t she include me in that? What the fuck happened between the last time I saw her and now?

I didn’t text her anymore or call. Something was happening, so I called my pilot. It was my flight over there, that I kept reading her text and decided that she was right. I would not go and see her. Instead, I’d go to see my mother.

When I arrived at my mom’s, she was sitting in the backyard away from the sun with Elsbeth drinking coffee and eating beignets. This was one of her favorite things to make after her New Orleans housekeeper taught her how.

The home was a small cottage-style structure with land all around in the White Plains area. She had a small fence that was accessible to the back yard, on the side of the house. Knowing that she was in the back, because that is her routine, unless it’s raining, I went straight there.

“Ahh, there he is, Mr. Costa,” Elsbeth announced when she first saw me. “What a nice surprise!”

This caused my mom to turn around, and then she was up on her feet and coming toward me faster than I thought she could move.

“Oh, Jacquez.” She threw her arms around me. “You’ve come to see your mother, eh? It’s only been a month, right?”

The little woman was still talking, but I never went too long without seeing her. Wrinkles lined her fair face, but they were not deep, just wise. Her eyes had a sparkle in them as she kissed my cheeks. Her hair was pulled up in a neat white bun with her slender hands holding on to my wrist like she always did.

“Hey, Mom.” I pulled her small frame into my large one. “You look good.”

“So do you.” She pulled away to get a good look at me. “So handsome. Always handsome.” This never ceased to make me smile. I resembled her a little. We had the same eyes and nose, but my other features had to be from my father.

“Come and take a load off,” Mom instructed, going into mama mode. “I’ll get you some coffee and beignets.”

“You take a load off, Mom,” I told her. “I’ll get my own food.”

“Nonsense,” she huffed. “Sit down, boy. I’ll be back.”

There was little argument there, because she left without any further discussion on the matter. I sat down and looked at Elsbeth, who decided it was best for her to go do some work. Which was what I thought was wise on her part. When Mom returned, she patted my face and said, “How’s my son doing?”

“I’m good, Mom,” I replied. “How are you?”

“Living my life the best way I know how,” she always answered. “What’s troubling you?”

I swear mothers have a special power when it comes to knowing something is wrong. She always did when it came to me. I remember having the hard decision of moving permanently to London. I had been so troubled, but she came right out and said, “Don’t you worry about me, Jacquez. I didn’t raise you to worry about me. I’m a big girl. You live your life, and I’m going to live mine.”

It was what I needed to hear from her, that my life was not indebted to hers. I would always make sure that she was good, her house was paid for and she had anything else she needed, but she was good. She was always good, and if she wasn’t then she handled it or let me know. We didn’t talk about Mateo, but his pictures were everywhere in the house. And I think she often wanted to make sure I wasn’t fashioning