Page 11 of So I Know it's Real

“Where did Mercy go?” I quizzed, trying to avoid the conversation I knew was coming.

“That’s not important, Buttah!” she hollered, calling me a nickname she came up with when I was younger. “Why? Tell me why?”

I grinned as I observed the matriarch of my family in her sundress. Her skin was the identical shade of cognac as me and my sister’s. Despite her being months from seventy, her features reminded me of a Cabbage Patch Doll.

“Mama Jo, stop frowning. After the way you went in on her, I doubt she’ll be back. Where are you coming from looking so good?”

“I asked Mercy to run me to the post office and drop off some packages for our family in Mississippi.”

“Didn’t I tell you I would handle that?”

“You did, but today is your day off. We got the job done.”

“That’s not the point. I don’t like the thought of you carrying boxes and shi—stuff.”

Mercy returned from the kitchen, smacking on a cold slice of pizza. “Durk, Mama Jo is a spring chicken. Plus, the employees helped us get everything inside.”

“Yeah, all right. Next time, just wait for me. My plate ain’t ever too packed to show up for y’all. That’s what a man is supposed to do.”

A rewarding grin stretched over my granny’s face. “I swear, me and your mama raised a good man. I can’t wait until you remove the block from over your heart and give that love to a woman who will appreciate it. I can tell you now that Barbara’s old ass ain’t the one.”

“Mama Jo, that woman is fifty-five, not five hundred.”

“I said what I said, boy!”

“You also said I got a lot going on. A woman ain’t gon’ lighten the load.”

She scoffed. “She will if you pick the right one. I know you don’t have much faith since that bullshit happened with Kehlani, but I won’t go there. I came by to talk about the tattoo I want to get. Your mama is on her way to pick me up for our spa date, so we have to make it quick.”

I studied the sketch she handed me, rotating the paper from side to side. Words on paper had always been a struggle for me to comprehend, but I understood angles and textures fluently.

“Mama Jo.” I shook away the smile on my face. “I’m not putting a needle on your skin. That shit is going to hurt.”

“I know that! You didn’t ask for permission when you started marking up your body. I thank God every day you haven’t touched your face.”

I sighed. “Give me time to work on your sketch. Then I’ll get back to you.” I faced my sister. “Are you going to get a massage with the old ladies?”

“Cut it out, Buttah. You know studs don’t do all that. That’s the proper term, right? I want to be mindful since the last time I called her a dyke she almost tore her backpack to shreds.”

Unable to hold it in, my twin and I burst out laughing. Over the years, our grandma had gotten better at tolerating our lifestyles. When we were kids, she would have a fit when I stayed in the streets with The Sons of Eshu even though the founders were my cousins. As I got older, I learned her fear stemmed fromher experience in living a fast life. She often said she was afraid of what losing me would do to her.

When Mama Jo announced her departure, I grabbed my elder’s purse from a chair and slipped a knot of cash into the side pocket. Any time I bought her gifts, she put them in a closet or made me return them. At one point, she refused to take money from me because she knew how I earned it. Nowadays, she preached about me stacking for my future.

Settled in my office chair, I leaned my head back and shut my eyes, but the sound of Mercy drumming on my desk with two pens caused my lids to part.

“You must be bored,” I commented. “I thought you were leaving with Granny.”

“Don’t rush me to leave, Durk. How are things going now that you’ve officially open?”

“Business is good. We’re open six days a week, and we’ve had to turn away walk-ins because there’s no availability. We’re thriving. I’ll never give niggas a reason to doubt me again.”

Eshu’s Ink was supposed to open a year ago, but issues with permits, licenses, and other formalities repeatedly pushed the grand opening back. People in the streets rejoiced at what they perceived as my downfall, but I knew better. No amount of street creditable or money could make me forget that everything happens in God’s timing.

“What else did you want, Mercy? You can’t be still, so I know there is something on your mind.”

Mercy combed her shoulder-length twists out of her face before dropping a large, black folder on my desk.

“I want you to look at my sketches again.”

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