Page 5 of Trading Places

Walking club, grocery store damn near every day, cooking for half the old folks in the neighborhood. Now she’s confined to this damn hospital bed. She doesn’t deserve to have fucking ovarian cancer. I still can’t figure out how someone as healthy as her got sick.

I never even remember her having a cold as a youngin’. She was always making weird concoctions for me to drink whenever I got sick. Juicing a bunch of shit that tasted nasty as shit, but always made me feel better. We never used medicine unless it was necessary.

I grab the remote off her side table, right beside a dozen pill bottles. I switch to Channel 5 news.

“I’m going to make your breakfast, Mrs. Hall,” Tammy announces, walking out of the room.

I sit down on the recliner and lean back.

“You know she’s single, Dreyson.”

I shake my head. Here she goes again. Always trying to play matchmaker as if I got time for a relationship. “Mama, I’m good. I tell you this every time I come over.”

“She’s thick like the women you usually date, but never bring home.”

I laugh at her. “How you even know what I like?”

“Don’t worry about that. I got my ways.” She sits up and coughs over and over again.

I spring up and pass her a few tissues.

She coughs up the phlegm into the napkins. Then she takes a big sip of water. “Sorry about that… I’ve—”

“Mama, you know you ain’t got no business apologizing. You need anything?”

She waves her hand. “No, I’m fine.” She leans back and closes her eyes.

I grab the remote and turn on the news. I head to the kitchen where Tammy is scrambling eggs at the stove. “She’s been coughing all night,” she says simply.

“Damn. Does she need more medicine or something?”

“No, she doesn’t want to do chemo, so it’s going to get worse.”

I groan because my mom is stubborn— there’s no convincing her. I slip over her weekly pay. “Aight. Here you go.”

She grabs it and tucks it in her scrub pants.

I look at her, and she fills out those light blue scrubs. She’s medium brown-skinned and stacked for sure. But she ain’t got shit on Zari.

My dick twitches just thinking about her. Them big-ass titties, tiny fucking waist, fat ass, and that beautiful dark skin.

I really shouldn’t be spending so much time with Montrell’s daughter. But she has good ideas. I can’t cross the line even though she almost kissed me last night.

She had better stop playing with me, or the next time I’ma fuck her.

I wash my hands and throw an apple and some ginger into that five-hundred-dollar juicer I bought Mama last Christmas. This one doesn’t even make a sound, just crushes the fruit and makes the juice. I pour it into her favorite wine glass.

I go back into the bedroom and my mom is asleep. I put the juice on her hospital table.

I move slowly and sit back down, not to wake her up.

Chemo can be hard on the body, so I get why she doesn’t want to do it. But, at the same time, she ain’t going to make it if she doesn’t.

My phone buzzes, and it’s Zari.

Zari: Hey, can we talk? Come to my place when you wake up. Pls

I knew her ass wanted the dick. Shit, whatever her father or fiancé doesn’t know won’t hurt them.