“Where else would I be?”
It was the only place in Houston besides Phat that felt good, even if I saw Mom’s ghost in her favorite places sometimes. She stood behind the stove, watched the sunset from her balcony, and crawled onto the couch with me some nights. It was ours. It was the only sacred place we had that Pops’ absence hadn’t tainted because he didn’t visit it often enough to impact the energy inside it.
“Hmm… I don’t know.” He shrugs. “Maybe your own place, like most young men your age… or here with me.”
“If you miss me at your crib, just say that, man.”
He chuckles, but it’s not a full-blown laugh. “How’s your host family? LaQuan learned how to make tea cakes and Bryson told me he readBetween the World and Mefor the first time. I think I heard from everybody but you.”
I smile, even though his words highlight the distance that’s always been between us. “They’re straight. Phat made us burnt hamburgers for dinner one night, and I ball with Marcus when he’s not working.”
He howls out a laugh at that and takes another sip of his coffee. He’s never laughed that loud at anything I’ve said.
“How’s CeCe? I haven’t seen her since before Angie… you know.”
There’s hesitation in his tone. If I could, I’d tell him that CeCe’s head is about as bald as his.
He keeps his eyes on my lips like he’s waiting for me to slip up and tell him I don’t know how much longer God will let her hold out here on Earth. Or that her house has all my favorite things that help me peel my eyes open in the morning—especially on struggling Saturdays like this when Mom fights me in my head because I’m tripping about her crisis-loving husband.
“She’s good. Phat takes good care of her.”
He nods and then steps closer to me.
His nostrils flare, and he sucks up the surrounding air with a frown. “You drove here?”
My eyes roll upward and I hold on to the “fuck” lurking in my mouth. “Yup.”
“Oh yeah? How’d that work out for you?”
“It worked out perfect.” I step away from him and bounce the ball against the pavement.
“You smell like a bottle of tequila.”
I squat, waiting for the wind to carry Mom’s voice, reminding me to flick my wrist. But the air is still and humid, so the only noise is theswishingnet when I push the ball up and sink a shot.
“Look, I made it here, didn’t I?”
“You made it on time to my backyard every day in LA for two years, but that doesn’t mean a damn thing—anything could happen while you’re out there driving like this. Angie let you run amuck—partying and hanging with God knows who. Now look where all that got you.”
He’s drifting back in time—talking like Mom is still here to get on his head for being so hard on me. I think it’s a side effect of the crisis he’s in.
He walks off toward the chairs he has lined up and down the court.
“I was hanging with your favorite baller, Javier, and the people he brought around when he wasn’t on the court making you proud.”
There was no one left from the people Javier brought around except Cree because once things changed,theychanged, and I didn’t blame them for it.
“Don’t start this morning.” He stops and whips his head toward me. “We both know I have a zero-tolerance policy for alcohol and drugs on this court. Your irresponsibility has nothing to do with Javier.”
I walk toward the ball and swipe it before it bounces into the grass.
The chair’s feet scrape against the pavement while he slurps his coffee. “Alcohol dehydrates the body and fucks up your motor skills. How thefuckyou gon' read the defense and react accordingly if you still drunk from the night before?”
I dribble back onto the court, and the blazing sun stings my neck. He’s already lined the chairs up while gripping his coffee mug. They’re in the same positions he’s been dragging them in since I was old enough to dribble.
“Andit fucks up your judgement, but I think you already know that.” He stomps a foot onto the chair, staring at me from half court with his mug at his lips. “A man’s greatest enemy is himself, young man. When you gonna get that through your head?”
I run toward the chairs, but the Texas heat makes my limbs lose their agility. If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear Mom had tied imaginary weights to them to fuck with me for fucking with her husband. She hated when I did that before Saturday morning practices.
