Page 37 of Kassir and Rebel
“Nah. On my way though.”
“I told you to call me once you get there before you leave so I can sleep in.”
“You did, bae, but I needed to hear your voice,” I tell her and I can hear shuffling in the bed.
“Why? Is everything with her okay?” she asked with too much concern, so I quickly put her at ease.
“She’s straight; it’s just some DP shit.”
“As long as Serious doesn’t come out, then I’m good.”
“I’m not him anymore,” I assure her. I’ve come along his way since she’s been gone and I have no plans of turning back. Mano will be dealt with, but he’ll be dealt with by Kassir, not Serious. Kassir will spare his life but Serious wouldn’t have.
“Good.” There are a few minutes of silence between us before she speaks again. “Since you got me all up, where are you taking me to dinner tonight?”
“Wherever you wanna go,” I admit.
“Nah. Try again; you have to win me back. I want a real ass date.”
“Win you back? Yo’ pretty ass lips on my dick last night made me think I already won you.”
“Goodbye, Kassir!” she snaps before ending the call, but the laughter in her voice lets me know we’re cool.
When I reach my moms, I pull in behind her BMW. Her sprinkler system is on so I have to maneuver around it to reach her front door. Before using my key, I rap on her door twice. She’s walking up to it right as I walk in.
“Buenos días, mijo!” she greets me, her smile taking up her entire little round face.
“Good morning,” I respond and she frowns, hating to hear me speak English in her house.
“Only because I missed you, mijo.” She tsks before lightly slapping my cheek.
“You missed me?” I tease.
“You know I did and where’s my baby?”
“With Linnea. I get him tomorrow.”
“I’m going to get him next week. I need to spend some time with him before he goes to kindergarten. At least one of my boys will speak Spanish.”
“You know I’m fluent.”
“I can’t tell.” She cuts her eyes then turns toward the kitchen. “Have you eaten? I just cooked some carimañolas.” I gladly follow her because not only am I hungry, carimañolas are my favorite. It’s a fritter made with yuca. She fills hers with spicy chicken and cheese. “And thanks for mi café. My box came last weekend,” she says, referring to the only coffee she will drink, Panamanian coffee, Geisha. I have it delivered to her monthly.
She walks to the stove and I wash my hands at the kitchen sink. Before sitting down at the kitchen table, I trek to the fridge and grab a bottle of OJ. She places a plate filled with threecarimañolas in front of me then pours her coffee. She drinks it black, nothing but coffee in her cup.
“Gracias,” I say and she smiles.
“Are you going to eat with that in your mouth?” she scoffs. “You have such pretty teeth. I don’t know why you wear that anyway.”
“It’s a part of me.”
“If it was, you couldn’t take it off.” Just to make her happy, I stand from the table and go into the bathroom to remove my grill. When I walk back into the kitchen, she smiles. “Gracias, mi amor. Now, tell me why I haven’t seen you in a few weeks.”
“Rebel came home,” I tell her and she lifts her head from her cup.
“And she hasn’t been by to see me?” she says, disappointed. My moms loves Rebel, probably more than me at times. When we broke up, I was on her shit list for months. She wore my ass out with every curse word in Spanish she knows. “How long is she staying?”
“Forever,” I admit. Her plane ticket says she leaves next week but I can’t let that shit happen. She’s back with me and her going back to Miami isn’t an option for me.
