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“Where are you? Are you okay? I’ve been worried sick about you.”

“I’m good,” I lied.

“You’re good?”

“Yeah.”

She let out a breath so deep I heard it through the phone.

“Thank God.”

I smiled a little and leaned back.

“I’m straight, Ma.”

“You should’ve called me.”

“I couldn’t.”

For a moment, neither of us said anything. Then she started with her line of questioning that only a mother would care about.

“You have somewhere to stay?”

“Yeah.”

“Somewhere safe?”

I paused before answering her. Wasn’t shit safe about being on the run, but I didn’t want her to worry.

“As safe as it can be,” I finally responded.

“I don’t like that answer.”

“It’s the one I got.”

She sighed. Hearing her fuss at me felt good. I hadn’t realized how much I missed it until then.

“I miss you,” she said.

My smile faded.

“Miss you too.”

“Come see me.”

“I don’t want you involved.”

Honestly, I didn’t. I was in enough shit as it was; I didn’t need anyone knocking on my mama’s door.

“I’m your mother, Giovanni. I’m already involved.”

I didn’t argue with that. She was quiet for a moment.

“Tahari came to see me,” she said, breaking the silence.

My hand stopped against my face.

“What?” I questioned.