Page 9 of Truce Of The Matter

“Thanks, Ma, and tell Lyra thanks too.”

“She’s your sister; tell her yourself when you get here. She’s not leaving here without my stew. See you tonight. Love you.”

“Love you too, Ma.”

When I end the call, I text my sister. She’s a beautician and we disagree a lot about Aryel’s hair. She’s always talking about protecting my baby girl’s hair by putting that weave shit in it. I don’t want it. Aryel’s too young for that. I don’t even allow it for cheerleading. She has enough hair and doesn’t need any added.

Me: Ma said you braiding Aryel’s hair. Thanks. Send me a picture of the style.

Lyra: I know you. It’ll be cute with no extensions.

Me: Come on. Picture.

A few seconds later, she sends a picture of a little girl with a ponytail made up of about twelve big braids.

Me: Okay. I like that. How much?

Lyra: She’s my niece.

Me: And you do hair for a living. I’m paying you.

Lyra: You don’t have to.

I love my sister and I know she loves me and Aryel. However, I don’t take money out of anybody’s pockets. If they have a skill or service and I utilize it, I’m paying, family or not. So, instead of going back and forth with her, I just Zelle her two hundred dollars. She doesn’t respond with words, instead, she sends back a heart. Taking anything from me or our brother Dax is hard for her. She feels like she owes us.

When she was nineteen, she married a piece of shit. None of us liked his bitch ass but she thought she was in love and let him take her away. They moved to Florida and would never come home. However, when she stopped calling, my mom got worried and me and Dax went to go check up on her. When we found her, that shit was bad. The nigga was an addict and putting his hands on her.

Lyra was actually in the hospital when we found her in Orlando. He had bruised her kidney, cracked her ribs, dislocated her jaw, and permanently scarred the left side of her face because she wouldn’t give him money for his habit. What made the shit worse was she didn’t have anything to give him. They didn’t have shit; he had sold or pawned it all and an eviction notice was waiting on her once she was released from the hospital.

I flew my mom down to check on Lyra and Dax and I hit the streets looking for her so-called husband because he was already dead in my eyes. For three straight days, we looked for him but he was hiding. Unfortunately, I had to fly back to Vegas for a fight. While I was busy knocking Franco Jones out in the fourth round, Dax found Lyra’s husband and beat his bitch ass into a coma. Lyra was released and she came back home to Crescent Falls.

My brother was arrested and charged with attempted murder. I hired the top criminal defense team, and thankfully, they were able to plea him down to three years. That whole ordeal tore our family apart but we healed and so did Lyra. However, she still carries a lot of guilt for Dax losing three years of his life and she feels like she owes me for clearing all of her financial problems in Orlando and setting her up here but she doesn’t owe me shit. She’s my sister and I’ll do it all over again.

Since dinner and Aryel’s hair are being taken care of, I don’t rush out of the store. I stick around even after six, helping out with the customers. When it starts to quiet down around seven, I check out and leave. My evening manager will close, as usual. I come in early so I don’t have to work late on most days. I’m typically out of here around three.

When I pull into my parents’ long driveway, I park behind Lyra’s ride and get out. Although I have a key, I ring the doorbellbefore letting myself in. My mom meets me in the foyer as I remove my jacket and hang it on the coat hooks by the door.

“It’s getting colder out there,” my mom says.

“Yes. It’s going to snow this weekend. You and Pops straight on wood?” I ask because they still use wood burning fireplaces.

My mom refuses to upgrade their fireplaces to electric or gas. I’ve offered several times but she and my pops both declined. Besides new furniture, hardwood flooring, and normally required house repairs, this is the same four-bedroom, three-bathroom home I grew up in. My parents worked hard to move from The Manor to this neighborhood, Crescent Pointe, right after I was born and it’s theirs, mortgage paid in full.

“Yes. Your daddy picked up some wood today. We are fine. Stop worrying about us and give me a hug.”

I pull her small frame into a hug and she squeezes me tightly. “We already ate but I’m warming your food now. Your dad is in that den of course, watching the Royals play, and your sister and my grandbaby are upstairs. I think she’s asleep though,” she says.

After planting a kiss on her forehead, I follow her into the kitchen then leave her there. I travel around the corner and walk into the den. Pops is on his recliner, nursing a Heineken, and barely watching the game. From the doorway, he looks almost asleep. Unlike my mom, he isn’t retired yet. This is his last year at the distillery though. His 401K totally vests at forty years and he wants all of his hard-earned money. I paid off their mortgage and added the solarium to the back of the house so their bills are minimal but he’s not leaving Black Ops until he reaches year forty.

“You sleep, Pops?”

“If I’m talking to you, I can’t be, son,” he utters so I walk all the way in and sit on the sofa. My brother and I get our height and size from him and Lyra is petite like our mom. The genes inthis family are strong as hell. Dax looks just like our Pops. “You picking up baby girl?”

“Yeah after I eat. Them oxtails smell good too. I smelled them as soon as I walked in.”

“They taste good too. That’s why I can’t keep my damn eyes open. I’m good and full.”

“Then go upstairs.”

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