Page 63 of I Love to Hate You
I can hear the happiness and pride in her voice. The smile on her face communicates more to me than her words do, and my heart flutters with excitement.
“You’re feelingthatgood, huh?” I ask. “So good that you don't need my help moving furniture around when I’m just a couple of streets over? For real?”
My mother’s face lights up with the most perfect smile. “For real.”
Happy, optimistic thoughts come to life in my head, but I refuse to voice them. We both know what this could mean, but I’ll be damned if I’m the one to jinx it.
“When’s your next appointment?” I ask instead.
“Monday,” she answers, pressing her lips together and nodding, probably thinking the same thing I am and performing the same exercise of not saying it out loud.
“Okay, well I look forward to Monday then. Do you need me to go with you?”
“No, I’m not changing up my routine now. Brenda will come with me and I can call you afterwards if there’s any news. Okay?”
“Okay.” Every bone in my body wants to leap for joy as confidence and expectation try to consume me, but I continue to fight it back.
Since graduation, my relationship with my mother has somehow managed to become even closer. I can’t say I'm surprised, to be honest. When Simon was killed, she became the only person in the world that I had left—the only one I wanted to talk to. At a time when she needed me to continue being supportive as she underwent treatment for her cancer, she conjured up the strength to come to my home and take care of me. I was a wreck over losing my best friend, and my mother didn’t come over and hit me with an, “I told you so,” about the lifestyle that Simon led. She simply came over and wrapped her arms around me in the moments I needed her to. She was my comfort in a world where I had none, and we have spent time together every day since then, even if it’s only a few minutes. We’re both still coping with Simon’s death, and while we try not to bring it up, the memory and associated pain are always with us, which is why her feeling good couldn't possibly come at a better time.
My mother finishes making the food and plates it, taking both saucers to the table and setting them down in the usual spots. I bring our orange juice in with me and place hers next to her plate before sitting down and sipping my own. Once we’re settled, she looks up at me with a smile as she chews a forkful of eggs.
“So are you going to tell me about that cut above your eye, or are we just going to act like it’s not there and that I didn't notice it the second you walked in?”
Instinctively, I reach up and lightly touch the spot where I was bleeding just last night. I almost forgot that those fuckers actually managed to leave a mark on me, but nothing as long lasting as the marks I left on them.
“Oh, umm, yeah I had a little trouble last night at Club Asylum,” I admit, keeping my eyes on my plate instead of meeting her intense gaze.
“Club Asylum?” she snips, just like I knew she would. “Kendrick Amaru Kennedy, after everything that has happened recently, please tell me why—out of all the clubs in Philadelphia—you would go to Club Asylum.”
I swallow hard even though I don't have any food in my mouth. “The interns wanted to go out to celebrate. Even though I know the history around the club, I chose to go with them, and I tried to keep it cool. But one of the interns got into it with some guys at the bar, and when she went outside to grab her phone from her car, they jumped her. They were beating her up pretty badly, Mom. I had to stop it. So I did.”
“Kendrick, I’ve told you about involving yourself in people’s business,” Mom says. “You’re going to get yourself hurt thinking you're Black Panther.”
I chuckle at the mention of a superhero after everything that has happened over the last twenty-four hours.
“I hear you,” I answer, “and while I don't intend to make a habit of it, I needed to step in this time. It only cost me a little cut over my eye, but if I didn't stop them, it may have cost this girl her life, and I couldn't let that slide. You didn't raise me to sit back and watch women be abused. I may have been too little to do anything about it when I saw it happen to you, but those days are over now. It’s not that I’m trying to be a superhero, but I couldn't help you when my biological father would hit you, and it still haunts me to this day. When I see women being abused now, I can’t handle it. It’s like instinct kicks in and my body goes on autopilot. Plus, out of all the people completing the internship, this girl is the one I like the most.”
Mom reaches across the table and places a hand on top of mine, and I see the beginnings of tears in her eyes before she forces them away. “It wasn’t your job to protect me back then, baby.”
“I know, but I’ll always feel like it was.”
She smiles and pats my hand before picking up her fork again. “I’m so proud of you. Just please make sure you're careful out there, okay? People don't like to fight anymore, baby.”
She doesn’t have to say it for me to know how the sentence should've ended. People don't like to fight anymore because they pull guns and shoot now. The memory of speeding to the hospital after finding out Simon had been shot haunts my memory briefly before I refocus my attention on my mother.
“So,” she begins again, pausing to sip her orange juice. She eyes me over the glass as she drinks and I know something is coming. When she puts it down, her eyes narrow and I brace for impact. “Tell me about her.”
I knew it. Fucking moms and their intuition.
“Tell you about who?”
“Boy, don't play with me. You thought I didn't catch on to that little tidbit you added about the intern youlike the most? I heard it like a ringing bell in my ears. So, go ahead. Tell me all about her.”
“Mom,” I start, but she cuts me off, smiling from ear to ear.
“What’s her name?”
I think to deflect and try to move to another topic, but I know my mother too well. I just sigh and shake my head.
