Earth is so ghetto. I would never have to eat cold McDonald’s fries at home. Ugh.
@AceWilliamsJr 1d
Shit, come home then.
Two DMs, one phone call to Mama and twenty-four hours later, I’m standing at the end of my driveway waiting on Coach Williams’ driver to pull up because Ace is still at practice and doesn’t believe in Ubers.
Marshall’s old Houston Rockets backpack dangles from my fingers because none of my purses arein.Mama sits behind me on the porch because she’s not stuck today. She’s just nosey and giddy that Ace called her to ask if I can spend time with him like an old ass man would:“Mom, can Lourdes spend time with me tonight? I promise I’ll take care of her.”
He’s always promising Mama something—a laugh, a dance, and when me and her are conjoined, he promises himself.
“That’s him?” she yells from her plastic chair on the porch as another black SUV drives down the street.
“Mama... that’s a Chevy.” I roll my eyes. “He said a Cadillac.”
“Shit, they look the same.”
“They don’t look nothing alike—believe me.”
“Well, it was the same colo—oh! That’s him! That’s him!”
My body jerks at her overreaction and I strain to see the driver behind the dark tint. All I know is that his name is Gus, and he’s been toting Coach Williams and his family around since before I was born.
Apparently, nosiness can cure everything that’s wrong with Mama because she damn near sprints to the end of the driveway.
Gravel crunches beneath the tires as Gus pulls in front of our leaning mailbox and parks. Mama strains her neck to see him as he pushes out of the driver’s seat.
“Lourdes?” he asks, rounding the corner of the truck in a linen short set.
“Phat,” I correct.
He smiles and nods. “Phat.”
He looks between me and Mama while he thrusts his hand out for us to shake, but Mama don’t shake hands.
She tosses her arms around his upper body in a tight hug. “I don’t know a stranger, Gus.”
His laugh sounds like it can shake the Earth. “You must be CeCe. Junior told me all about you.”
“Junior?” I ask.
His voice sounds rich. His pronunciations are proper and poised, with a hint of a Jamaican accent, maybe.
He pulls out of Mama’s grip and gives me a polite church hug.
“Yeah, Junior, but I’m sure yuh like fi call him Ace. He’ll always be Junior to me though,” he adds.
“Junior...” I nod, shrugging.
Mama slaps a hand on his chest. “Now, where you taking her to, Gus?”
“Mama,” I hiss.
She flings her hand out at me, rolling her eyes.
“Straight to Junior’s place. I promise. He’s out of practice. He called and said he’s home waiting for her.”
“Alright now.” The sun beats down on us while Mama brushes her eyes against his body.
