Page 132 of Invisible Bars
I laughed.
“Where that ol’ bougie sister of mine at anyway? I swear, Mama failed her somewhere between perm number four and them damn veneers. Walking around like she invented etiquette!”
“If anybody failed at perm number four, it was you,” Mama Rose chimed in. “I still got the picture from Easter ’78 when you looked like a microwaved poodle.”
Those two stayed flaming each other. If a person didn’t know them, they’d swear they weren’t mother and daughter.
Auntie Renee clutched her chest dramatically. “Wow! Mama, just yesterday, you told meIwas your favorite.”
“And I meant it. But I also tell my plants they’re all gonna grow tall—that doesn’t mean I ain’t got one still struggling on the windowsill.”
We all laughed.
“Well, we all know who yourfavoriteof everybody is!” Auntie Renee narrowed her eyes at me with a smirk. “I’m sure she fixed your plate too, huh? Probably had it tucked in the oven with a handwritten note and a kiss on the cornbread.”
Mama Rose stood and grumbled, “Lord, let me go fix this girl a plate, so she can get the hell out of my house.”
“I just got here, and you’re already trying to put me out! It’s ‘cause you know I’m right! I might be your favoritedaughter.” Auntie Renee whipped her head at me with a serious expression, then added, “And you can tell ya’ mama that.” Then she continued her rant. “But you make Imanio’s and Dess’s cornbread thick and mine look like communion!”
Mama Rose glanced back.
“That’s ‘cause every time you come over, you got a new cleanse, a new man, or a new lie! I never know if I’m feeding you or your alter ego!”
“Not too much, Mama!”
I laughed.
Auntie Renee pointed at me with her red press-ons. “And don’t you be laughing, Mr. Bentleys & Billboards. You sitting here eating like you ain’t got private chefs and a black card!”
Mama Rose handed her a plate, then placed her hand on my shoulder.
“And yet he still comes here for my food—so what does that tell you?”
“See… there goes that favoritism act right there!” Auntie Renee playfully exclaimed.
The kitchen filled with easy laughter. Being around them— Mama Rose, Auntie Renee, Dessign, hell, even Chi on a good day—I always felt like I could breathe like the mask was off.And for that moment, the weight of the suit, the meetings, the secrets, even the kills… didn’t feel so heavy anymore.
Auntie Renee stayed long enough to roast us a lil’ more and scrape her plate clean before she dipped, claiming she had “somewhere fabulous to be with somebody fine.”
Afterward, I told Mama Rose I had to get going too—work was calling. But not before I asked for some to-go plates; one for me, one for Dessign, and one for Naji.
She slid the bag across the table.
“Now take this food, drop it off to the girls, and take your tail on back to that demanding job of yours before it puts more wrinkles on that pretty forehead.”
I grinned, grabbing the bag. “Yes, ma’am.”
“And tell Dess I said hey, and I love her. And… that she better get her behind over here to see me soon. I don’t care if she rolls in that wheelchair, gets towed, hitch a ride on the back of a FedEx truck, or Uber with a ramp—just tell her to get over here. She finds a way to the nail salon and make sure she catches a happy hour every week, so I know she got GPS and motivation!”
I cracked up.
“As for your wife,” she said, her tone softening, “Imanio, I know this is just an unfortunate situation for you as it is her but hug her like she’s yourwife… not your burden. You might be the one who brought her into that house, but it’s up to you to make sure she doesn’t feel trapped in it.”
Her words hit me deep.
I nodded slowly.
“And next time you stop by,” she included, “bring her too. I expect her sitting right at this table with a smile—not looking like a kidnapped ghost with good posture.”
