“You know it.” I sauntered over to her, grinning as I wrapped my arms around her. When I eased back, I noticed the red and white apron she wore. “This is not a fashion statement, Ma,” I chided.
“Oh, and those combat boots and leather jacket are?” She asked with a cock in her brow.
I lifted on foot and looked at my boot as if seeing it anew. “These aren’t combat boots. They’re motto, Ma. There’s a difference.”
She swatted me with the dishtowel in her hand as she laughed. “Get out of my way, girl.”
“Speaking of, it smells good as hell in here, though,” I admitted as my stomach growled.
“Watch your mouth,” she scolded, heading back to the kitchen. “You know better than to be cursing in my house.”
“My bad, Mama.” I respected my mother’s home, but I forgot myself from time to time.
“Where’s Corey?” I asked. I pulled off my jacket and swung it around the back of one of the wooden chairs in the dining area.
“He’s in his room,” my mother said as she stirred whatever was in the pot on the stove.
“Smells like curry.” I approached her from behind and peered over her shoulder to see what she was making.
“You know it is.” She grinned back at me. “I know you better wash your hands before even thinking of touching any of my dishes.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
I quickly washed and dried my hands and grabbed three plates. Mama plated the dishes, and I set them out on the table, as usual. Right before sitting down to eat was when I realized we were still missing someone.
“I’ll get him.” I headed down the hall for the room that my brother had taken over and rapped my knuckles against the partially opened door. “Hey.”
Corey sat on the edge of the low-sitting platform bed, watching TV. There were a sea of clothes and shoes scattered around the room, in the corner chair, and the shades were drawn. The only light in the room came from the television.
“Love what you’ve done with the place,” I said, leaning against the doorframe with my arms folded over my chest.
Corey frowned. “Did you need something?”
“Don’t be like that. Mama made curry.”
“I know.”
“Then let’s go. You know not to keep her waiting at the dinner table.” I stepped fully into the room. “Woah.” I waved my hand in front of my face and wrinkled my nose. “When’s the last time your behind got in the shower?”
He made a sound as he stood. “I worked out this morning.”
“And? You forgot to wash your ass afterward?” I pivoted on my heels and kicked a small pile of clothes on my way to the door.
“I got busy.”
I glared at him over my shoulder, giving him a once over. He wore a white V-neck with black sweatpants, his usual outfit for the past few months. The comeback that was perched on my tongue fell short when I saw him limp slightly before straightening out entirely.
Our gazes locked for a split second before Corey dropped his.
His chin fell.
I knew better than to ask him if he needed help. He could maneuver around fine for the most part with his prosthetic, but he hated even the slightest mention of it. God forbid if someone asked if he needed assistance.
He made a slight hissing sound as he started for the door. My stomach dropped to see the way his shoulders slumped and the way he avoided looking me in the eye. I turned to start for the hallway, not saying anything. I heard his footsteps behind me.
The rhythm of his steps were off and I envisioned him walking with that slight limp that happens when his prosthesis was feeling sore.
“Looks great, Ma,” Corey said as we settled in for dinner. His words were complimentary, but they lacked that zeal that always used to have. No matter if he was talking about fighting fires, playing basketball with his intramural team, women, or food, Corey always took life by the balls and lived it with gusto.
