Page 54 of Roman Blake
My mind was in Italy.
Thinking about Mo laughin’ in that little yellow dress on the sand.
Then her sayin’,“I’m pregnant.”
My fingers tightened around the glass in my hand.
I heard a knock, but I ain’t answer.
Door opened anyway.
“Yo,” Royce said, steppin’ in like it was his spot. “Why your dumb ass sittin’ in the dark?”
Truce came in behind him, Trend trailin’ after, door closin’ soft.
“Damn, it is dark in here,” Truce said. “You havin’ a funeral or a meetin’?”
“I ain’t call nobody,” I barked while sittin’ back.
“Yeah, we know,” Trend said, droppin’ down on the couch. “That’s why we here.”
Royce looked at the untouched bottle on the table, then at me. “You good?”
I huffed out a breath. “Stop askin’ me that.”
He tilted his head. “I’ma keep askin’ till you answer it for real.”
Truce sat on the other side of the couch, leanin’ forward with his elbows on his knees. “We know what today is, bro.”
I went quiet, jaw clenchin’.
It’s Mo birthday.
“Figured you was up here in your head,” Trend added. “So… we came to kidnap you.”
I frowned. “What?”
“We hittin’ the hood for a lil’ bit,” Royce said. “Old spot. Get some food, listen to some music, talk shit. You been in this office too much.”
“I’m workin’,” I said.
“You starin’ at black screens,” Truce corrected. “That’s not workin’.”
They weren’t wrong.
But I still ain’t wanna move.
“C’mon, man,” Royce said, standin’ up. “If you don’t wanna talk, cool, but you not gon’ sit up here and drown on Mo birthday by yourself. Nana will beat our ass.”
That made me let out a small, humorless laugh.
I rubbed my face, let out a breath. “Aight. Let me grab my shit.”
The spot they took me to was one of them old neighborhood joints we used to hit way back, hole-in-the-wall type, but the food slapped.
The hood had changed some, more condos, more people that ain’t belong, but that corner still felt like back then.
We got a table in the back, near the speakers. Old school R&B and some slow trap mixed in. Fried fish, wings, fries, mac, grease and seasoning everywhere. Niggas with money don’t play the hood heavy, but sometimes you need that noise to remind you where you came from.
