Page 48 of Kitty-Kitty, Bang-Bang

“It’s ya blood. It’s a baby you know exists, and instead of step-pin’ up to da plate you turnin’ ya back on that innocent baby.”

“Sweetie, that baby can go into foster care. I’m sure some family will adopt it, and hopefully do right by it. But, this bitch ain’t da one.”

“Let’s see. Abandonment, neglect, self-centeredness…hmmmm, once again, here you go soundin’ more ’n more like ya moms.”

Hearin’ this shit for the second time from ’er makes my skin crawl. And she shuts me the hell up wit’ that. The only comeback I can think to say is, “Like I said, I gotta life.”

She laughs. “A life doin’ what?”

“Doin’ me.”

She shakes her head, tightly rollin’ another blunt. She seals it. “Oh, puhleeze.” She sparks up, then takes it to the dome.

I stop slicin’ tomatoes. “And what is that ’posed to mean?”

She gets up and walks ova to me wit’ the blunt danglin’ from ’er dick suckas. She takes another pull, then hands it to me. “Bitch, it means, yeah you gotta life, but ya ass ain’t really livin’ it. You fuckin’ existin’, that’s it.”

I stare at ’er. Raise a brow. “Oh, so I guess you’re livin’ life, but a bitch like me is only existin’, right? Bitch, puhleeze.”

“I neva said I was livin’ shit. I know I could do betta, but I’m good. The difference between me and you is I’m not goin’ through life pissed off at da world.”

I take two pulls from the blunt, then pass it back to ’er. I go back to finishin’ up the salad. “Sweetie, I ain’t pissed at da world. I’m pissed at bitches who keep tryin’ it on my time; simple as that.”

“Yeah, okay, boo. If you say so.”

“Think what you like, but I ain’t takin’ on another bitch’s problem. As far as I’m concerned my good deed is lettin’ da lil’ thing live, not raisin’ it.”

“Ohmiiiifuckin’gawd, I done heard it all. See, that’s ya fuckin’ problem. You so busy lovin’ ya’self that you don’t know how to love anyone else.”

“Bitch, get real. I love ya ho-ass.”

“I know you love me. And I love you, too. But I ain’t talkin’ ’bout me. I’m talkin’ ’bout you bein’ so damn closed to lettin’ anyone else in ya space. Bitch, I love you like a sista, but I swear ya ass is too damn selfish.”

Is this slut serious? “Ho, since when you become da expert on love? Love don’t come easy, and it ain’t guaranteed. So, a bitch like me ain’t givin’ any out unless it’s earned and deserved.”

She goes back to ’er seat. “Kat, it ain’t always ’bout you. That baby needs you. And if you ask me, I think you need it, too.”

I roll my eyes. “Girl, you sound fuckin’ crazy.”

“And, bitch, you crazier than I am.”

I laugh, dismissin’ e’erything she’s said. “You know what, ho, pass me da damn blunt. And instead of playin’ Oprah, make ya’self useful and take the lasagna outta da damn oven. Trick-bitch tryna lecture me. Not!”

“Fuck you, slut-bucket.” We go back ’n forth callin’ each otha a buncha names, laughin’ ’til it’s time to get our grub on.

TWENTY MINUTES LATER, WE’RE SITTIN’ AT THE TABLE EATIN’ ’N tossin’ back Jose Cuervo mix margaritas. Our convo has changed up and I’m glad ’cause I really didn’t wanna have’ta go off on my girl ’bout shit she’ll neva understand. “Mmm, this shit is bangin’, Boo. I had no idea you could throw down in the kitchen.” She licks ’er fingas, takin’ a sip of ’er drink.

“Well, Sweetie, a butta bitch like me can do more than be fly ’n fabulous.”

“Hmmmph, so I see, boo. So I muthafuckin’ see. Annnnyways, what’s good wit’ you and Allstar?”

“Shit. But interestin’ly da nigga took me to meet his moms.”

Her mouth drops open. “Say what?”

“You heard me. It fucked a bitch up, too.”

She smiles. “That nigga must really dig you. You know ain’t no nigga takin’ a ho he ain’t really diggin’ home to meet his moms; period.” I agree. “So how was she?”

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