“Lyric, how many times I done told you to stop tellin’ them people to call me,” Mama hollered before I even got both feet inside the house.
I didn’t jump. Didn’t blink. Mama always acted like the school was some government agency out to bother her. “Them people,” in her vocabulary, meant anybody with authority she didn’t care for. I wasn’t worried, though. I knew I hadn’t done anything. If somebody called her, it was probably my band director, Mr. Stevens.
Band been the one thing I could manage as an eleventh grader without it messin’ up my responsibilities at home. Practices were mostly Monday and Thursday mornings, then Friday evenings. Easy enough to work around Miracle and Sariya.
“Mama, Mr. Stevens was callin’ to let you know the band practice and performance schedule got changed,” I said, keeping my tone respectful. Mama didn’t play about tone.
“Again?” she fussed, slamming a cabinet like it owed her money. “I’m tired of that damn school changin’ stuff every five minutes. Only reason you still in band is ’cause it keep you outta trouble, and I ain’t lettin’ my damn money go to waste.”
She was finishing up the German chocolate cake she was bakin’ for Mrs. Nancy next door. Mrs. Nancy went to church with us. Well, Mama and the girls still went. I stopped a while back. But Mama still made cakes for folks like she always did, especially for church people she respected.
“Miracle got picked up at the school by Eric,” Mama said, wiping her hands on a towel. “They stopped by to get her sandals. Somethin’ about takin’ her to some reunion so she can meet her granddaddy. He bought you and Sariya somethin’. I put it on your bed.”
“Okay,” I said, heading to my room.
On my bed sat a pair of wireless headphones and a new phone case. There was a little note on top:
Hey babygirl, Miracle said Sariya broke your last pair of headphones, and your case was fallin’ apart, so I bought you some new ones. Love, Eric.
Man… I miss him.
As much as Eric did for me and Sariya, Mama never let us go off with him. She’d always say, “That’s Miracle’s daddy. Y’all need to let her have that time with him. Lyric, if you want, I can talk to your grandma and see about gettin’ your daddy to write you or somethin’.”
I always shut that down quick. Those people had nothing to do with me. And I wasn’t lookin’ to reconnect with my daddy.
He tried a few times after I turned fifteen, but he was so inconsistent I just said forget it. He wasn’t interested in me; he was interested in seein’ if Mama would take him back. One of his cousins, who randomly befriended me on Facebook, told me things in Georgia weren’t goin’ good for him. His wife found out he was talkin’ to her cousin and was threatenin’ divorce.
I doubt she’ll leave him. Wasn’t the first time he cheated, won’t be the last.
“Lyric, you found it?” Mama called from the kitchen.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Okay. After you change out your school clothes, you wanna go with me to the store? I gotta pick up a few more things. Sariya stayin’ with your grandma, so it’s just you and me tonight.”
“Yes, ma’am. I’m almost done.”
I changed quick, tossed my school clothes in the hamper, and slipped on my sandals. I hated closed‑toe shoes, but school rules were school rules. My feet needed to breathe.
When I came out, Mama was in the living room with the cake covered and ready to go. She grabbed her purse and keys, and we headed out.
These little errands, just me and Mama, were her way of spendin’ time with me. She’d never say it out loud, but I knew. Mama wasn’t the type to sit down and talk about feelings. Her version of bonding was riding in the car with the windows cracked, stopping by H‑E‑B or Walmart, and fussing about prices or coworkers. So, I never turned her down.
We didn’t talk about anything deep. Mostly Mama ventin’ about work, how tired she was, how ready she was to quit. But the pay was good, and it kept the lights on.
None of our daddies paid child support. Well Miracle’s daddy did. He gave Mama $1100 a month on his own. He worked as an engineer and had a savings account set up for me for school. He started it back when he and Mama were serious. He opened one for Miracle and Sariya too. Far as I know, he still puts money in it.
As for why Mama never put my daddy or Sariya’s daddy on child support, she always said the same thing:
“If a man wanna pay for his kids, he will. I ain’t finna let the government in my business.”
Mama didn’t believe in government assistance or anything like that. Everything she had, she worked for. And she planned to keep it that way.
Sometimes I wonder if Mama realizes how much she carries. Sometimes I wonder if she realizes how much she expects me to carry too.
But tonight, riding in the car with her, just me and her and the smell of German chocolate cake filling the air, I let myself enjoy the quiet. These moments didn’t come often.
And even though Mama didn’t say it, I knew she liked having me there. Just her oldest girl. Just us. Just a small piece of peace between all the chaos.
