rolled her eyes. “Come on. We going to the new diner. I’m hungry like a muthafucka.”
I thought for a quick moment, remembering the money bossy human Ashton slipped me, then smiled. I grabbed my bag and went for the backseat.
An old school tune flooded the kitchen of my mother’s apartment. She was at the stove, stirring the greens with one hand and a raised glass of red wine in the other as she sang along. The song was depressing, and I was tired as shit. Wanda Lee was entertaining on an ordinary day, cussing someone out or setting them straight. But a tipsy and happy Wanda Lee was a vibe. Even in my cranky, sleepy state, my mother’s stable and protective energy emanated, making me feel at home. Thanksgiving was her favorite holiday. I always believed it was because the holiday was on or near her birthday. Either way, she shared it with family and friends, opening the doors to her home—no matter how small this two-bedroom luxury apartment was—to feed them.
Cutting the last of the yams, I took a deep breath and sat back in the leather kitchen table chair. I craved a warm body and my bed—any three of my beds. Tonight, I would have to settle for just my bed at my mother’s. The wine glass she insisted on serving me once I was settled and ready to start cutting up food was gone. That was cool. I was ready to shower and fall the fuck out.
My mother sang about her lover being someone’s husband so passionately. If I hadn’t heard the song so many times in my life, I would have thought it was her story. Wanda Lee could sing, but her forceful nature won out the possibility to pursue music and she went to college to study African American History. She eventually became a college professor in Women’s Studies. Maybe her not pursuing her vocal talent was best for me. The woman drove me crazy every day she made sacrifices to help guide me through this chaotic journey.
Tickled by her performance, I chuckled, shaking my head. Then I scraped the last of the yams into the large bowl she gave me and stood to deliver them. After placing the bowl on the counter, I washed my hands.
“Let me tell you something, Ashton,” she delivered with her head tilted back, speaking toward the ceiling. “Cheating is wrong, and will never be right. But the biggest conflict comes into play when you fall in love with someone who ain’t yours or who belongs to someone else. People fall in and out of love every day—most of it is bullshit and more about passion and temporary emotions.”
I keened my eyes and ears to her message. “But when you know the person you’re cheating with is worthy of a commitment and sacrifice…when you’re prepared in your heart and mind to walk through the fire of the mess—the backlash of leaving the relationship and committing to the other person right after the big announcement—it might be something real after all.”
Shit…
How did she know I’d been fucked up about this even while cutting up food at her table?
My mother sang a few more lyrics then continued her tipsy lecture. “You see, even after the backlash of ending the marriage or relationship, you still have to deal with that faceless, timeless bitch name karma. And she’s a damn doozy. But if what you have with the one you cheated with is truly real, you two can survive karma—because you can’t beat her ass.” She shook her head, lips balled tight as she cast her eyes below. “Then maybe…maybe the love was real. Pure. You know?”
My eyes lobbed left and right as I tried to decrypt her lesson plan. Then I gave up, remembering the near-empty wine glass in her hand.
“Good night, seductive homewrecker,” I whispered after kissing her cheek.
“Uhn-uhn!” She shrilled, “You’ve gotta cut that cheese, boy!”
I laughed, eyes feeling heavy as they shrunk. “Ma, I finished with the cheese before I started with the yams.”
She turned to the counter behind her. “Where they at then?”
“In the fridge.” She shoved me, crossing the small area for the refrigerator. “BOOM!” I taunted her.
“You was about to get yo ass whooped,” she threatened. “I think there’s more to cut up.” She looked deeper into the fridge.
“Ma!” I groaned. “Did you forget I traveled today? I got in late, too.”
My phone rang as she lifted from the fridge and an odd zing of excitement coursed