Page 44 of Tyriq & Teaira
“You good, Ma.”
“Are you hungry? I’m starving. I’ve been in that salon for six hours and I didn’t pack anything to eat. No snacks, nothing. I think I want the trio but with extra portions of lasagna,” she says and my damn chest gets tight.
The fuck! She’s ordering for him.
Lasagna is his favorite, not hers. She loves the shrimp pasta here and the bread, not the damn lasagna. The time to start our conversation is now so I don’t waste another minute.
“Ma, I brought you to dinner so we can talk. This is one of your favorite spots. So why are you ordering for him?”
“Tyriq,” she sighs. “I like pasta with marinara and lasagna too. They give you so much food; so why waste it? He’s going to eat my leftovers anyway.”
“Not if you get what you like. He’s allergic to shrimp. He won’t touch your leftovers. For once, damn, forget the nigga. He forgot about us and you a lot. Shit, he still does,” I spit and her entire face scrunches. She closes her menu, slowly places it on the table, then leans her elbow on it.
“Tyriq Desmond Hill,” she begins, saying my whole name and she knows I hate that shit. “I don’t care how old you are, how successful you are, or what you do for me and your sister, you will not sit in here and curse at me.”
“I’m not cursing at—”
“You will not interrupt me either. Let me finish what I was saying,” she huffs. “Yes, you invited me to dinner and when a person invites you, you typically let them order what they want. Yes, I am ordering the trio with double lasagna. So what?I’ve been in a shop getting my hair braided all day. I’m tired and don’t want to have to cook dinner for my husband, your father. I want to eat, climb, in the tub, and in my bed, not get in my kitchen and prepare a meal.”
“You don’t have to cook him, sh…anything,” I say, quickly correcting my words before I curse again.
“But I do. He is my husband and I’m his wife. I love him, all of him. That’s why I married him,” she says and I just shake my head to keep from saying shit. “I love him and I love my children with all my heart. There’s nothing I won’t do for you or Quay. Nothing and you know that.”
“Except leave him,” I utter, unable to keep quiet.
I love my mom and respect her to the utmost. Although that nigga was always in the apartment when we were growing up, he wasn’t a parent. She was both. She did it all. She was momma and fucking daddy. He didn’t do shit.
“Because I will never leave him,” she says with her whole chest. “Marriage for me is forever. Better or worse, thick or thin, sickness and health. Those weren’t just words for me. They were vows, promises to love my husband. That’s what a real wife does. She supports her man through it all and loves him through it all.”
“Yeah. For a real man. The problem is that’s not what he is. No real man lets his wife take care of everything. No real man watches his wife struggle and work till her knees are sore and no real man says fuck his kids or treats them like shit. You deserve better so much better, Ma,” I finally say.
As if utterly defeated, she drops her head on the table on top of her arms. She shakes her head from side to side then lifts it. When she does, her eyes are filled with tears, real tears. My chest tightens because she’s hurting. While I hate to see her likethis, I had to say what I said. It’s the truth and it’s been eating at me for years; I couldn’t hold it in.
Feeling like shit though for making my mom cry like this, I inch closer to her and take my cloth napkin and wipe her now tear-stricken face. She places her hand over mine and keeps it there as I wipe. Our server walks over and I hold my other hand up and mouth, “Fifteen minutes.”
This is not the time.
“My heart is breaking. It breaks every day because I can’t have my family together under one roof. No mother should have to deal with that. You two are so much alike.”
“I’m nothing like that nigga.”
“You may not think so but you are. You are both stubborn, both standing your ground, and both breaking my heart. Tyriq, I’m serious. My heart shatters a little more every time I’m torn between you two.” She grabs the napkin, wipes her face, then places it on the table. She grabs my hand and looks up into my eyes. “I’m sorry I missed your championship game. Your father was sick and I had to take care of him. You know I would have been there,” she says, pleading with me for understanding. Unfortunately, I have none, not right now at least. When I don’t say anything, she squeezes my hand tighter then sighs heavily as hell. “What do I have to do to keep from choosing between my husband and son?”
“I don’t want you to choose between me and him. I want you to choose between you and him. Pick you for once.”
“I’m married. It’s me and him forever. Picking me picks him. It may not make any sense to you but it does to me. Marriage is forever, period. How do I keep my husband and not lose my son?” she says and her eyes start to fill again with tears.
“You won’t lose me, Ma,” I say. My mind drifts back to Kassir’s words and to Teaira and our baby. I don’t have anything that even looks like a resolution but I need to at least say something. “I can’t lie. I’ll never see why you love him or stay with him but I guess I don’t have to. That’s your house; he doesn’t ever have to leave if you don’t want him to but I can’t see me being there,” I say and she sighs. “That doesn’t mean I’m not here for you and Quay. I am and we can see each other. Wherever I am, you are always welcome, without a doubt. He just isn’t ,and deep down, I know he shouldn’t be. I’m a real man not because of him but in spite of him. Like real shit, I do the opposite of everything he did. That’s how I became who I am. Unlike him, I will always take care of mine and I’ll never treat my children like he treated me.”
“Raising kids is hard. When you become a parent, you’ll understand that some decisions don’t come easy at all.”
“But I’ll always love mine.”
“You know I love you,” she says, totally dismissing my innuendo.
Deep down, she knows I’m talking about her husband but she seems blind to our reality and maybe that’s what she needs to cope and live in her bubble with him. I don’t know. But one thing is clear as fuck, no matter what I, or anyone, says, she’s riding for him. I don’t understand it and don’t accept it. I just have to navigate around it to have peace with my mom and have her in my child’s life.
“I know, Ma and I love you too. And I hate to make you cry. We are good, okay? I need you, especially now.”
