Page 8 of Ms. Mosley

“Don’t trip. I’m on it. See y’all niggas tonight.”

“Bet.”

As soon as the call ended, I took care of my hygiene and made my way to where my Queen resided. It didn’t take me long since she only lived about fifteen minutes away. Black and I stepped through her door and found her lounging on the couch, feet propped up, engrossed in the TV. He wasted no time taking off, barking.

“Oh, my goodness. Come here, baby.” She said to him, pulling him into her arms. “Feels like forever since your big-headed daddy brought you by.”

I let them have their moment before I chimed in. “Sup, ma,” I spoke, handing her roses and kissing her cheek. That was my way of easing any potential wrath.

“And where the hell have you been?” She snapped. “I been calling you, son.”

“I know, my bad. I was asleep. Had a long night.”

“I been told you to get around here to see me though, Prosper. If you were ever home, I would come to you, hell.”

“I know, ma. I apologize. You been aight?”

“Yeah,” She eyed me with a mix of scrutiny and affection before bowing her head and examining her flowers further. I could tell they softened her up a bit. “Thank you for these, baby. They are beautiful.”

“You know I got you.”

“Mmhmm. Let me find out you don’t wanna spend time with your mama no more, boy.”

I chuckled at her spoiled ass. She often feigned hurt when I let more than a week go by without coming over. After she and my father divorced, it had always just been the two of us, and she missed me staying here.

“Never that. Charge it to my busy schedule, never my heart. It’s been hectic for me.”

“Understandable,” she nodded, giving me another once-over. “It’ll all pay off in the end. I’m so proud of you. I know your nana and cheatin’ ass daddy are looking down, proud too. Especially nana. You’re keeping your promise to her.”

“You know I ain’t breaking no promise to Nana. And stop talkin’ about my pops, woman.”

“Yeah, yeah. May his soul rest in peace.” She waved me off.

I lost my father to brain cancer when I was twenty-two. All that work he put in these streets; you’d think a bullet had his name on it. But nope, it was a tumor that took him out.

“What you been up to?”

“Work, then I came straight home. I’ve just been sitting here relaxing. I’m tired myself.”

“That’s ‘cause you been working too hard.” I shot her a firm look.

She winced as she adjusted her small feet on the recliner. “Ain’t that the truth. These damn things hurt like hell. Some days, I feel like I’m going to need a wheelchair to get around.”

“Keep tellin’ you to stay off ‘em. Retire and let me take care of you.”

“Boy, please. What am I gonna do all day at home but be bored out of my mind?”

“Pick up a hobby. Workout… find a show to binge…go shopping. Something.” I argued.

My T lady had been working at a local market since before I was born. She started as a cashier and worked her way up togeneral manager of the entire store. Earlier this year, I had told her she could retire and let my bread take care of her.

However, she wasn’t having none of that. Mary was an independent woman who preferred to take care of herself, though she never wanted for anything anyway. Even before I grew up and started making my own money, my father would break her off. He was a lousy husband, but a great father and provider—let her tell it.

“I have a hobby. Drinking my wine while workin’ on my crossword puzzles. But I can’t see myself doing that all day.”

“Then find somethin’ more. Your feet are swollen.”

“Boy, leave me alone. I’m not retiring.”

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