“Only if you let me help,” I say, earning me a smile from Rochelle’s mother. Rochelle gives me a small grin as she turns and makes her way back into the kitchen and opens the window over the sink, giving some much needed fresh air to the space around us. She begins to do the dishes, hurrying to clear a spot for us to work and I slowly start to make my way toward her.
“Well now, Rochelle, this young boy has my blessing with those dreamy eyes and manners most can’t even muster up the respect for these days.”
A slight laugh escapes my lips, as Rochelle turns around, puts her hands on her hips, and gives me a sly smile knowing I am pouring it on thick. But I can’t help it. My mother raised her son right. Sylvia too, I wouldn’t exchange my manors for the world.
Coming up to Rochelle in the kitchen, I slowly wrap my arms around her middle and nestle into her neck. She lets me, both of us knowing her mother can’t see us so she can’t protest.
“But, if you’re planning on wooing her Hunter, you better make an honest woman out of her as well!”
“Mother!” Rochelle squeals in my arms as she loosens her hold on me and I laugh into her hair.
“Wouldn’t dream of doing anything but just that, Mrs. Thomas!” I shout. Her mother hums with approval.
“That’s a promise,” I wink as I kiss Rochelle’s lips tenderly and spin her around in my arms.
With her arms braced against the sink, I take the sponge from her hands and turn on the water. She gives me a wicked smile, before pushing her delicious round ass back against my cock.
I close my eyes and groan, wishing I could take what she is offering. “Something I can help you with, Mr. Alexander?” my Angel sasses.
I nestle my mouth close to her ear and whisper. “Nothing I won’t make your fine ass pay for later, Ms. Thomas. But first, let me help you do the dishes, and show your Momma her daughter is in good hands.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Rochelle
I watch from the front porch as Hunter’s car exits our lot and sigh in relief.
Well, that wasn’t so bad. I honestly don’t know why I dreaded it so long, or was worried he wouldn’t see past our little existence. I always knew he was different. I was just too scared to let my heart believe the truth.
With a smile, I turn to make my way back into the house. My heart feels lighter than it has in a long time. When I walk inside, I see my mother standing from her chair and rush to her side.
“Momma,” I scold. “I know you do this when I am not around, but if I am here you need to let me help you.”
She takes a few steps and leans on me for strength. I hold her up and help her walk towards the hallway, certain that she is going to the bathroom. But she makes a turn for her bedroom and I take each step with her into a room I can’t remember the last time I saw her use.
“He is a nice young man, Roshie!” She smiles, her breathing is labored. “He will take care of you.”
I help her to her bed and watch as she lowers herself into a spot I haven’t seen her sleep in in years. Even though I clean and wash the sheets weekly, hopeful that she will decide to make a change and forgo the recliner in the living room, she never does.
“He is a good man, Momma. The best I have ever known.” I confess as I help her by propping a few pillows up behind her head. I smile at her and pat her hand as she eases back against the bed. When I go to leave, she grabs hold of me, keeping me still.
“He can take care of you, make you not have to worry for nothing baby.” She says as her eyes sternly hold mine. Confused, I wonder just what she is getting at.
“Well I am sure there won’t be something along the way, but…
“Listen to me, Rochelle,” she barks out before a coughing fit interrupts us. I wait patiently for it to subside. When it doesn’t, I rise and make my way to the kitchen to fetch her a glass of water. Returning to the room, I hand it to her. She drinks quickly before catching her breath. “He comes from a good family?”
“Yes, Momma. He does.” She nods in agreement as if she already knew the answer to my question. “But I don’t understand…”
“Don’t let him steal your heart if he’s not willing to fight for what matters most,” she whispers, her eyes search mine desperately. I know she is talking about what happened with my father, but I push back the emotions the thought evokes.
“I won’t, Momma. I promise.”
She nods her head and slowly lowers back to her spot against the pillows. I sit with her for a moment, and take the glass out of her hand, setting it on the table beside her. Peace becomes her, and soon I hear the sound of her slumber through the room. Rising, I make my way to the hall and stop just outside her door. Turning slowly, I take in my mother in this new way. In her bed, as if the person she succumbed to being in that chair all of these years doesn’t define her anymore.
Something has changed. Something just Hunter’s presence alone has shaken up. Dumbfounded, I stare at the woman before me and wonder what it could be. Momma and I used to be closer, used to be inseparable back in Georgia. But time, years, the West Coast, has forced a wedge between us. A wall, I was never sure I could beat down again as I watched her resort to sitting in her chair day and night, waiting for me to come home, watching me leave, and never saying more than a few words to me daily.
I put the blame of the wall between us on my shoulders. I took it personally. Like maybe I wasn’t providing enough, or couldn’t care for her enough in her sick state.
