Page 2 of Welcome Home

Her head tilted as she stared at me. It was her hard, computing stare. “You’ve lost weight in your face, Maz.”

“Thanks, I guess. That’s the least my body can do when I’ve gained weight everywhere else.” My body currently was in a do whatever the hell it wanted to phase.

She glanced down. “I’ve noticed. You’re ankles and ham hocks are twins.”

My mouth fell open. “Lula Ann! Bitch, I’ll take your wig off and pour this coffee on it.”

I laughed although I didn’t want to. My laughter faltered when I noticed her laughter wasn’t there. The concern in her eyes was strong.

She grabbed my hand closest to her and rubbed it. “Does your hand hurt? How long has it been swollen like this?”

“It started a while ago.” I shrugged. “It hurts sometimes.”

She nodded as she still rubbed my hand. There was no way that I would tell her to stop, because it felt too good. Without her eyes on me, she asked, “How long have you been wrestling bears—I mean not sleeping?”

My brows knit in the middle. “First, fuck you.” I chuckled with my words. “As far as the sleeping, I sleep every night.”

“Okay, here’s a better question. How long have you been exhausted?” She knew me better than I knew myself. This was the first time that she brought up my exhaustion.

The only sound in the room was the television that watched us. I hadn’t answered her question because I wasn’t sure of the answer. Had it been days, weeks, or months? “I don’t know. I’m fine, though.”

She huffed as her eyes watered. I knew that it wasn’t because she would cry. I knew that it was because she was angry. It didn’t feel like she was angry at me. It was more likely that she was mad at the potential that something could be wrong.

“Maz, I’ve been by your side since I was fourteen. We’ve been through breakups, makeups, beating bitches’ asses, career changes, and a whole lot of other shit. I was with you when you buried your parents. You’ve worked hours that have required you to sleep in your office, or so you say. I say all that to say that even in those times, you didn’t look as exhausted as you look now. You are not fine, Mazikeen.”

She lifted my swollen hand. “This right here is not alright. Since it’s not alright, we are going to the doctor to find out why it’s not alright.”

My head shook hard. A new sound was introduced to the room. It was the sound of my neck cracking. “I don’t have time for all that. I have resident appreciation next week, board meetings, inspections, and all kind of other shit.”

She already had one of my hands in hers. She reached out and grabbed the other one. “I’m going to hold your hand when I say this. I don’t give a flying fuck about any of that shit.”

I sighed. “Lula, I have people depending on me. I can’t afford to just take time to go the doctor.”

“Do you hear how you sound? You sound stupid as hell! Who you think depends on you more? Those people or your own damn body?” She was mad.

She got up from the couch and walked toward the back of my condo. There was no telling what she was up to. When she came back with my laptop in hand, I sat up. “What are you doing?”

She ignored me as she logged into my system. It was crazy that she had access to all my shit. Once she got to where she wanted to be on my laptop, she turned it to face me. “Corporate gave you the approval to hire an assistant and an intern months ago. You created the requisitions but never posted them. Now, they’re posted.”

My eyes bucked at her before they shot to my laptop. Sure as shit, my requisition was now posted on multiple job sites. “What the fuck! Lula Ann, I told you that I don’t have time for all this shit.”

“I don’t give a fuck what you think you have time for. As long as I’m around, I will make you make time. You know what I don’t have time for? Your fuckin’ funeral, bitch!”

Okay, Maybe It’s More . . .

On top of being exhausted, now I was tired. I was tired of going to the doctor. My first visit to my primary care physician didn’t go well, according to Lula Ann. She felt that my doctor didn’t take any of my concerns seriously. All the reasons she gave me for what I told her were aligned to my excuses. My bestie wasn’t having it.

She demanded a second opinion which led to an appointment with a specialist and bloodwork. Now, we were back for the results of those tests. There was a plethora of people in the waiting room. It felt like they were all afraid but tried hard to not show it. I understand.

“If this doctor says anything about a stress reduction, sodium, or any of that bullshit, I’m going to burn this muthafucka down.” Lula Ann said all that without lifting her head from the magazine that she flipped through. “I’m not about to play with these people today.”

My best friend came to my condo an hour before my appointment, ready to be my chauffeur. When I told her that it wasn’t needed, she confidently told me to shut the fuck up. One thing about Lula Ann Montgomery was that when she made her mind up about something, that was it. Nothing anyone said or did mattered. If you had a problem with it, then it was fuck you.

With a titter, I responded. “You don’t know what he’s going to say. When it comes down to it, I could lower my sodium and stress levels.”

She closed her magazine, then folded her hands on top of it where it laid on her lap. When her head turned my way, I knew that she would say something more than likely ignorant or rude. Hell, it could have been a mixture of the two.

“You’re right. I don’t know what his ass is going to say. What I do know is that from the beginning of time, Black women have been told that we need less stress, but not how to do the shit. That’s like the slave master telling a woman to be less stressed, but he keeps coming into her shack at night.”