By the time I reach Mum’s door, I’ve sprayed half a can of body mist on myself to kill the smell. Pointless because she’ll know anyway.
She always knows.
I knock once, then push the door open because she’s never locked it in her life.
“Mummy?” I call, slipping out my boots by the door.
“In here,” her voice drifts from the kitchen and I follow it.
I find her at the counter, hair tied up in a scarf, still in her scrubs. The night shift etched into her eyes, but she’s moving around like it’s nothing—scrubbing a pot, muttering to herself as always.
“Eh-eh,” she turns when she hears me, eyes narrowing. “Don’t tell me yuh was out there smoking again, Francine.”
See what I mean?
I sigh. “One smoke, Mummy. One.”
“Just like ya fadda,” She shakes her head, lips pressed thin. “One still one too much, yuh hear? How much time mi haffi tell yuh smoke a go kill ya lungs?”
I drop onto a stool at the counter, resting my chin in my hand. “Enough that I can recite it in my sleep. Come on, Mummy, don’t start with the sermon.”
She clicks her tongue, but the edge softens quickly. That’s the thing about my mum, she isn’t like a typical Jamaican mother. She had me young so we were more like best friends, though she may have been my sister in another lifetime.
We fight like sisters, joke like sisters, but she’ll still drag me by my ear if I step too far out of line so I try to watch it.
“You look tired,” I say, watching her pour the dirty wash out of the pot. “You even sleep yet?”
She waves me off. “Small nap. I’ll get rest later. Yuh eat?”
I shake my head. “Not yet. Dinner with the McKingsleys is tonight, remember?”
She raises an eyebrow. “What Taniza cook?”
“Probably the same thing she always cooks,” I say, smirking.
“Stew,” we say in unison.
Her laugh fills the kitchen. “I love the gyal, but she nah change it up at all. We eat stew the last six damn dinners, my God.”
“Swear,” I sigh. “I ain’t jealous of y’all eating that, none at all. I’ll stick to my veggie chunks.”
Mummy scoffs. “Hm, maybe I should try eatitaltoday.”
“Tuh! Yeah right,” I mock. No way in hell she’d give up meat, even for the day. “By the way, you have any more sorrel? Zaza wants it.”
She turns to face me finally, her hands on her hips. “Yeah, inna the deep freeze, I—no man. When last yuh shave ya face?”
I flinch and cover my jawline. “Why? Is it bad?”
She doesn’t answer. Just sighs deeply and signals for me to follow her, which I do.
“Yuh been drinking the tea I give ya?” she asks over her shoulder.
I shrug mine in response. “It makes me feel sick, so I stopped.”
“Hardhead.” Her voice sharpens. “That tea will help get your hormones under control, chile. But what do I know? I just work in the medical field and did the research myself. Yuh waan deal wid dis fi di rest a yuh life? Gwan, be my guest. Who cyan hear,mustfeel.”
I mimic her nagging under my breath, praying she doesn’t catch me.
