“What have you heard about her?” I asked, as we made our way to the living room.
“About your momma?” She questioned with dipped brows.
I nodded, brushing my hand down the back of my neck. Because we were who we were, you know… prominent in the hood, known around the community, Marietta’s declining mental health was known. It wasn’t something I wanted out there. It made me uncomfortable as hell, knowing that other muthafuckas knew what was going on within our family. But shit, what could I do about it? Nothing. Just deal. I just wanted moms to be talked about in a good light. I wanted what she’d done for the community to be the topic of discussion. Wanted people to remember her as Mari before Isaiah’s death.
She shrugged. “That she took your dad’s death hard. That’s it, really.”
“That’s it,really?” I asked with a light huff. “Yeah, aight.”
“What you want me to say? Tell you every rumor I heard? You know people talk in Brickhaven. They said a few things.Unimportant things. What I know is that she took Pastor Isaiah’s death hard.”
I looked over, nodded and continued through the house. My ma was a sore spot for me. I caught a couple bodies behind her name. Might’ve been erratic, going after niggas who’d said something about her mental health, but I did it. I hadn’t always kept my emotions intact. That was a skill I learned.
“Aight, look,” I said through a sigh. “She don’t require much. Her brain ain’t mush or no shit like?—
“Exodus,” she calmly said. “I know her brain isn’tmush. I know grief—okay?”
I nodded. “Like I was sayin… she don’t require much. Companionship. Help with meals, showers, brief changes, walks, shit like that. Things you do every day, for the most part. She takes medication too. On a schedule. You don’t need a degree for this. Just a good heart.” I looked over at her. “I think you can handle it. How you feel?”
“Honestly?”
“Of course. I wouldn't want it any other way than that. Ever,” I told her as we made our way into the kitchen where we stood, overlooking the living room at my ma.
“I’m—” She paused and chewed on the side of her lip. “I don’t think I can handle it.”
I crossed my arms over my chest and turned to face her. “What about it intimidates you?”
She nervously smiled and looked down. “Brief changes… I don’t… I’m not a nurse.”
I laughed and nodded. “Felt. Fa sho.”
Stroking my beard, I turned to look back at my ma. Those brief changes were a muthafucka. No lie. There was no way around them though. Moms was out of it. Wasn’t conscious enough to go to the toilet on her own. I wished she was. But it was what it was.
“You’ll be compensated accordingly,” I said before turning to face her again. “Three a week.”
Sereia frowned. “Three hundred dollars a week? I make more than that at Coney. Ain’t no way you brought me all the way over here to offer me three hundred a week to essentially be a CNA. I know I don’t have any certifications or anything but come on now. That’s disrespectful.”
I could have cut her off a minute ago, but I didn’t because I was intrigued. Sereia carried herself in a fashion that I appreciated. Although she was a little hesitant and paranoid, she was a spitfire. Spoke her mind and didn’t give a fuck about who she was speaking her mind to. For me, that was a rarity. Men tiptoed around me. Big Dawg this, Big Dawg that. Heavy dick riding, trying to do everything in their power not to tick me off. And the women? My God… the women were bashful as fuck, rarely made eye contact, and didn’t have morals with me. It was up. They were overly going. Both sexes watched what they said to me. However, not Sereia. Another bitch would have taken that ‘three hundred’ a week with a smile on her face, just to be close to me.
“You might as well call your friend back to take me home. I have to work in about an hour,” she continued, shaking her head, fumbling around her purse. Probably for her phone. Probably wanted to text her girls to tell them about me offering her three hundred fuck ass dollars to take care of my mom.
“Who said it was threehundreda week, sweetheart?” I coolly asked, peeping the frown on her face.
She shifted her eyes up at me. “You.”
“No. I said three a week. You assumed I meant three hundred. Why? I don’t fuckin’ know. Considering I just threw you ten bands not even a month ago.”
Her face softened a little and she put her phone back into her purse.
Not only was she impatient but she was impulsive and made assumptions without all of the information. Such a fuckin’ woman.
“You want to pay me three thousand dollars a week? Without a certi?—
“I told you. All you need for this job is a good heart.”
We locked eyes for a couple of seconds before she looked away, arms crossed over her chest. “And you think I’m qualified?”
I nodded. “Uh huh. Wouldn’t be here if I didn’t think so.”
