“Are you excited to start school, Moriah?” Mimi asked.
She shrugged. “Not really.”
“Why not? I used to love school until it got to a point where I actually had to do my work,” Mimi joked, making me laugh at her bullshit.
“Hmm, I don’t know. Last school year, the kids at school used to make fun of my shoes. My mama didn’t buy me any new ones.”
My heart ripped open. I could hear the sadness in her voice. Mimi shot me a look that said it all. Yolanda wasn’t here for me to curse her ignorant ass out, and I wouldn’t do it in front of her child. I don’t know why I expected shit to change. Some bitches have children just to be shitty ass mamas, chasing dick while their kids get nothing less than the world.
“Mimi, what time is it? My phone in there on the charger?”
“Reach for it in my pocket.”
It was 6:00.
We didn’t have time to get pizza and go to the store immediately after, so I came up with a better idea.
“Moriah, you want to stay with me and Uncle Rome for a while?”
“Hmm hmm,” she responded.
“Okay. When Mimi gets done with your hair, I want you to pack whatever you need, okay?”
“Okay.”
Just as Mimi finished Moriah’s hair, Yolanda pulled up in a car with a guy I’d never seen before.
“Go ‘head and do what I told you to do, Moriah. Hurry up.”
“Okay.” She stood up from the steps and ran inside the house.
Yolanda reminded me of Trecee. That’s why they never got along. They were both chasing dreams, expecting handouts from men—everything else, including their priorities, was on the back burner. I doubted she’d visited her child at Parkwood. According to Romelo, they wanted to keep her a little longer than seven days. From my understanding, she wasn’t allowed to have visitors yet. She was severely suicidal and wasn’t taking her meds. The downside? She didn’t have insurance, so Romelo was paying out of pocket for her intake care. Outpatient therapy was yet to be determined. At least I cared enough to ask.
When Yolanda reached the steps, she didn’t speak. Mimi and I remained seated, waiting for her to walk by, but she didn’t. She stood in front of us, looking every bit drunk.
“How you at my house and don’t speak, heffa?” she spat in a drunken slur.
I waved her off and shook my head, gazing down the street at nothing in particular.
“Go on with all that.”
“Trecee told me what yo hoe ass did.” She continued to provoke me.
“Are you mad that you didn’t fuck him before I did?” I argued back. “I’m not here for any drama.”
“I don’t give a fuck what you’re here?—”
I glanced up at her. “What the fuck do you care anyway? You don’t give a fuck about Trecee—none of your fuckin’ kids.”
“At least my kids have a mama. Yours left you for a pimp?—”
Before she could finish, I hauled off and popped her in the mouth, busting her in her shit. Her blood splattered on my shirt. It wasn’t a fair fight because of her drunken state. Shockingly, her blood spewed on the steps, along the faded blood where Trecee bled months ago.
What a fuckin’ coincidence.
She touched her mouth as if anyone else outside was bleeding, then stumbled toward me but tripped on the steps. Moriah came rushing outside with a smile on her face amid the drama, but it faded when she saw Yolanda slumped in blood.
“What the fuck?” I heard Romelo spit from behind me.
