“I’m home!” I call out, toeing my trainers off at the door. “I just came to pick up the rest of my things then I’m heading out.”
Mum appears from the kitchen in her robe, wooden spoon in hand, eyes squinting like I’m already in trouble. “And where are you going?”
I groan. “We talked about this. I’m staying at a hotel until I find my own spot.”
“Oh!” She acts shocked like this is the first she’s ever heard of this. “I didn’t realize this house was below your standards, King Charles.”
Here we go.
“Pardon us common folk, is the bed not to your liking? The roof must be leaking? No? Is the food I cook not good enough?”
This damn sarcasm is almost as mind numbing as Francine’s.
“Mum, please.” I massage my temple. “It has nothing to do with you. It’s me. I need my space. I shouldn’t be living with my parents at my big age. I bought this house for you and Dad to enjoy.”
She isn’t taking that explanation. Instead, she folds her hands and looks away.
“Mummy,” I stand closer and squeeze her forearms. “I promise, I’ll visit.”
That softens her a little.
“Don’t forget you have church in the morning.”
I groan. “Mum?—”
“Don’t ‘Mum’ me. I’m serious, Jabari. No excuses.”
I raise both hands. “Yes, ma’am.”
She gives me a side-eye but lets it go. “And cut your hair. You look like a runaway.”
“Love you too,” I mutter, ducking past her and heading for my room.
As soon as the door closes, I exhale.
Don’t get me wrong, I love my Mum. But it’s hard to feel like a grown man when she’s still on me like this. So leaving is for the best.
I shower quick, throw on a black button-up and dark jeans.
Nothing fancy.
I grab the rest of my shit, say my goodbyes and head out.
I fuckinghate having people close to me.
Not on the pitch.
I can handle the tackles and the press of an opponent trying to break me in half.
That part’s easy.
It’s theothercloseness that grates.
The hands touching me without asking.
The way people think a good game buys them access to you.
If it wouldn’t get me arrested, I’d burn this section to the ground along with all the germs.
