Page 94 of Worth the Trip

“That doesn’t make it lunch.”

“It got milk, grain, and vitamins. Balanced meal.”

I walked past him. “Langston University owes us a refund.”

Daddy sat at the kitchen table with his reading glasses low on his nose, sorting through mail. He glanced up long enough to take in Lennox and his mixing bowl before returning to an envelope.

“Your brother been defending that cereal for ten minutes. Don’t waste your education.”

“I’m feeding my inner child,” Lennox said.

“Your inner child need employment.”

Lennox looked at me. “See what I deal with?”

“You’re nineteen and eating cereal from a mixing bowl. I’m siding with the opposition.”

Mama’s laughter came from the living room, softer than usual but strong enough to pull my attention toward her. She sat curled at one end of the sofa beneath a light blanket, a scarf tied neatly around her head, and a glass of water resting on the side table. Treatment had taken some of the color from her face.

Her voice still had all of it.

“You done coaching everybody else’s children?”

“For today.”

I bent and kissed her forehead, letting my fingers rest briefly against the side of her neck.

Cool.

Good.

“How’d treatment go?”

“I’m home.”

“That wasn’t the question.”

She patted my cheek. “It went the way treatment goes. I’m tired, not fragile.”

“I didn’t say you were fragile.”

“You thought it with your whole face.”

Her water looked barely touched.

“How much you drink?”

“Enough.”

“That answer lacks measurable data.”

Mama narrowed her eyes. “You brought groceries and an attitude?”

“I brought accountability.”

“You always rename bossiness when it belongs to you.”

I carried her glass into the kitchen, refreshed it, and returned with crackers and ginger candies. She watched me arrange them within reach without protesting.