Page 9 of Sour Brew Face

“Mary Opal.” Mom nods her head, then turns her focus on me. “Did you check the perimeter?”

Shaking my head, I take a step towards the back door in the kitchen. “Not yet, gonna do that now. Be right back.” Without a thought, I drop a kiss to Mo’s cheek and hurry out the door. I want to appease my mom so I can finally get this date started.

Mo 8.

There’s an awkward silence as the door shuts behind Langston. I’m still smiling at his mom, and she’s now dropped the mask of indifference. I wince internally when I take in her sour brew face.

“My boy tells me he picked you up at his bar.” I’m not sure how to respond to that statement. I’ve never actually met the mother or father of anyone I’ve dated. So, this is a first, and considering I didn’t grow up with parents, I’m definitely at a disadvantage here.

“Uh…well, not exactly. I work for—”

“You met him in his bar.” I’m momentarily stunned that she cut me off. So, I just nod. Her shrewd eyes rove over my body. And unlike when Langston does it, it doesn’t feel appreciative. I suddenly feel like a bug that needs squashed and she looks like a shoe. “Hmph.”

She turns her back to me and continues fussing at the sink with the dishes. When she puts a few dishes away, I notice she’s not limping.

“I’m glad to see your ankle is better.” She eyes me over her shoulder with an eyebrow raised. I point to her ankles, like she doesn’t know where they are. “You aren’t limping, so I guess the strain was minor?”

“Oh. Right. Yes, ice and elevation. And of course, the love of a good son.” I keep the eye roll to myself and move on. My stomach is starting to churn for reasons other than nerves, but I ignore it.

“Mayes is a wonderful bar; you should be proud of Langston—” She whips around faster than I thought a woman of her age could.

“I am his mother. Don’t presume to tell me how I should feel, as if I don’t know what kind of man my son is or his accomplishments. There isn’t a thing about my boy I don’t already know, and I don’t need a temporary bed companion to tell me my business.”

Without a word, I spin on my heels and walk into the living room. I’m not going to engage her in whatever that was. A minute or two later, I hear murmurs in the kitchen, then Langston strides to where I’m standing looking at family photos on the mantle.

“You ready?” He asks and I nod. A thrill moves up my spine when he places his hand at the small of my back.

“Bye mom!”

“Bye dear, have a wonderful time you two!” Her voice is sugar sweet and fake as hell, but I don’t say anything.

Once we’re back in his car and driving toward downtown, I think about the pictures in her living room. “Langston…”

“Hmm?” He grabs my hand and settles them on his thigh. I like my hand in his, how dainty it is compared to his.

“You said you have a brother, he’s only a few years younger than you?” He hums again in agreement. “Why aren’t there any pictures of him in your mom’s house?”

“Uh…” I feel his grip tighten subtly before he forces himself to relax.

“Sorry, that was personal, you don’t have to answer.”

“No, it’s okay. My mom, uh, when Emerson left, she spiraled into a deep depression. She cropped him out of all the photos and after a time just stopped speaking of him at all. I can’t say I blamed her when she told me about his note.”

“He left a note?” I shift in my seat to face him better. The rugged profile of his face flickering in the streetlights we drive under.

“Yeah, he said that he didn’t want anything to do with us anymore. That she was a terrible mother, and I was worse than not having a brother at all.”

I squeeze his hand and place my other on his rigid shoulder. “Langston—”

“It’s not true, you know. Especially after dad left, I tried hard to support him, I was always at his games and school activities. I’d help him with his homework after school. We’d play video games and ride our bikes over the summer. I don’t know why he would say such a thing…but then he just disappeared. I tried calling him a few times, but the line was no longer in service. The last time I tried, someone answered and said they didn’t know anyone by that name.”

“Have you tried to find him since? Hired a P.I.?” He shakes his head solemnly.

“No, I figured if he went to the trouble of leaving and changing his phone number then he didn’t want to be found.”

I ponder what he said, filing away the information for later. I need to get our date back on track. “Find any vagrants with homicidal tendencies when you looked around outside?”

He laughs, some of the tension in his face easing, “No, just non-homicidal vagrants.”

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