Page 62 of Mimosa

The door opened and it was Nadia who stood there, smiling warmly. “Hey, baby brother.”

“Hi. Is this…can we come in?”

“Yeah,” she said forcefully, and she stood aside to let the two men inside the sterile home.

Everything was white, from the walls to the furniture, and even the wood floors were especially light wood. There were a few brass pieces, like the legs of the coffee table, but mostly, everything was white.

It was a great room, one that was open to the kitchen and hallway beyond, and the staircase wound up to the landing upstairs. A white rug ran the stairs too.

Their old home, it had had color and life. There were Moroccan tiles in the kitchen and bathrooms, Persian rugs, silk and satin quilts over the backs of every sofa, and plants were growing everywhere. His mother had given all her precious plants away, as his father had complained endlessly about their messy fallen leaves and dirty water that caught in the trays under the pots.

His mother stood over by the white brick fireplace, her hands hanging and clasped in front of her. Her makeup was done, her hair carefully curled and brushed back form her lovely face. A beautiful woman, his mother, and she had the ghost of a smile on her lightly painted lips.

“Ali, hello, son.”

“Mother, hi,” he said as he took a few steps closer to her, waiting for her to close the gap between them. She did, but it was obvious she’d done it reluctantly.

The hug they shared was stiff on both ends, but he whispered to her, “You look beautiful, Mom.”

She looked him over and said, “You look well, son.”

“I am. I’m…I’m happy.”

“Good,” she said and actually seemed to mean it. “I, uh, I’m glad, Ali.”

He swallowed the lump in his throat and croaked, “How is he?”

She fetched a handkerchief from the pocket of her dress and dabbed the corners of her eyes. “He’s…bad, Ali. He’s very bad.”

“I need to see him, Mom. This could be the last time.”

She nodded erratically, but said, “I don’t know, Ali. I just don’t know.”

“It’s not up to you to know, Mom. I need to. For me. Maybe for him, I don’t know, but I have to do this.”

She blinked and set her hand to her throat, and it was only then she noticed Cosmo. “Who is your…your friend?”

“He’s not my boyfriend, Mom. This is a man I work with. His name is Cosmo.”

She stepped to him and offered her hand. “Nice to meet you, Cosmo.”

“Nice to meet you, Ma’am.”

“You work with Ali?”

“Yes, Ma’am, we tend bar together.”

She gasped and spun around before Nadia said, “It’s a job, Mama, and he doesn’t drink.”

That was a lie, but it calmed his mother considerably. “Is it good money?”

“Really good, Mom. I make a lot, I have a nice place and I have good friends.”

“Good. I’m happy, Ali.”

There was only a tiny bit of her accent left. His father had insisted on the two of them getting English lessons that would cure them of their accents. He wanted to be counted in America, not seen as an outsider. Mims knew if he could have, he would have bleached the brown from his skin.

“Mom, I’m going upstairs, okay?”

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