Dust coated pictures and photo albums cover the table. She pulls a chair back, pushing me in it.
“Look… this me and Angie back in the day.”
I don’t have time to catch my breath before she shoves a picture in my face.
My heart slows as I stare at CeCe and Mom back when they looked less alike and more like themselves with straight-backs and bedazzled boot cut jeans on.
“When was this?” I ask, dragging a finger across Mom’s almond eyes.
“Shit…” CeCe leans in over my shoulder. “We had to have been ‘bout your age.”
Her hand covers mine and we flip the picture over together.
“2001,” we both read.
“She was pregnant with you ‘round that time.”
I squint at her flat stomach, searching for myself until loud clanking makes my eyes jump away from the picture.
“Dang it,” Phat hisses. “Shoot!”
Bitter smoke drifts up my nose while CeCe reaches over me and shuffles through a stack of pictures.
“You got more?” I ask.
“Duh! Back before your daddy swept her away to LaLa Land, me and Angie was thick as thieves.”
There’s a dull ache in my chest. Her words sound like some shit Mom would say on her balcony over a glass of wine while we watched the sunset.
“She called LA that too.” I chuckle. “She said it ‘wasn’t no City of Angels—’”
“‘But a city full of devilsdisguisedas angels!’”
Our laughter mixes and when she reaches over me to grab another picture, I smell Mom on her skin. I taste the metallic in my mouth and I’m fucking dying for something I promised Mom I wouldn’t have at dinner. I told her I’d behave for her good girlfriend that she hadn’t seen in so long.
CeCe jabs her boney elbow into my side while studying a picture of her younger self. “She might’ve been talking ‘bout your ole’ daddy.”
I snort. “Shit… it wouldn’t surprise me.”
“Now, don’t get me wrong, my friend loved Ason though. She loved him a lot even when he was a lil’ devil.”
When her words drift off, my sight goes with them and I lose her face because Mom’s replaces it. For a minute, all the good feelings that come with seeing Mom after so long attack me—the stillness of peace that only her face brings, a swollen heart that grows too big for my chest when I hear her heckling me from the stands during games, and most of all contentment because I’m home.
“Yeah,” I babble. “She loved him too fucking much.”
CeCe’s cheeks lift and her eyes scrunch so much I can’t see the whites in her pupils. “How was the funeral? I wish I would’ve at least got a program.”
“Quiet,” I choke out with a swallow. “Real quiet.”
Both sides of the family still hadn’t forgiven Pops for it.
She taps the picture, shaking her head. “We all grieve in different ways, son. Go in there and have Phat fix you something to drink in one of my good glasses. It’ll get you through dinner.”
Phat doesn’t hear us because she’s too distracted, frowning at the sizzling mound of hamburger meat in the skillet.
I push away from the table and walk toward her.
The wet spot on her ass is even bigger and there’s a matching one on the small of her back. She swipes a hand across her wet forehead when I ease next to her and I almost don’t want to say anything because watching her is better sometimes.
