“What y’all bringing up in here?” Ms. Felicia asks at the front desk, stretching her neck to see.
Momma comes from the other hallway in her plain yellow scrubs, following a teary-eyed boy and his mom. The boy sucks on a lollipop, a reward for surviving a shot.
“There go my babies,” Momma says when she sees us. “And they got my food too. C’mon. Let’s go in the back.”
“Save me some!” Ms. Felicia calls after us. Momma tells her to hush.
We set the food out on the break room table. Momma gets some paper plates and plastic utensils that she keeps in a cabinet for days like this. We say grace and dig in.
Momma sits on the countertop and eats. “Mmm-mm! This is hitting the spot. Thank you, Seven baby. I only had a bag of Cheetos today.”
“You didn’t have lunch?” Sekani asks, with a mouth full of fried rice.
Momma points her fork at him. “What did I tell you about talking with your mouth full? And for your information, no I did not. I had a meeting on my lunch break. Now, tell me about y’all. How was school?”
Sekani always talks the longest because he gives every single detail. Seven says his day was fine. I’m as short with my “It was all right.”
Momma sips her soda. “Anything happen?”
I freaked out when my boyfriend touched me, but—“Nope. Nothing.”
Ms. Felicia comes to the door. “Lisa, sorry to bother you, but we have an issue up front.”
“I’m on break, Felicia.”
“Don’t you think I know that? But she asking for you. It’s Brenda.”
Khalil’s momma.
My mom sets her plate down. She looks straight at me when she says, “Stay here.”
I’m hardheaded though. I follow her to the waiting room. Ms. Brenda sits with her face in her hands. Her hair is uncombed, and her white shirt is dingy, almost brown. She has sores and scabs on her arms and legs, and since she’s real light-skinned they show up even more.
Momma kneels in front of her. “Bren, hey.”
Ms. Brenda moves her hands. Her red eyes remind me of what Khalil said when we were little, that his momma had turned into a dragon. He claimed that one day he’d become a knight and turn her back.
It doesn’t make sense that he sold drugs. I would’ve thought his broken heart wouldn’t let him.
“My baby,” his momma cries. “Lisa, my baby.”
Momma sandwiches Ms. Brenda’s hands between hers and rubs them, not caring that they’re nasty looking. “I know, Bren.”
“They killed my baby.”
“I know.”
“They killed him.”
“I know.”
“Lord Jesus,” Ms. Felicia says from the doorway. Next to her, Seven puts his arm around Sekani. Some patients in the waiting room shake their heads.
“But Bren, you gotta get cleaned up,” Momma says. “That’s what he wanted.”
“I can’t. My baby ain’t here.”
“Yes, you can. You have Cameron, and he needs you. Your momma needs you.”
Khalil needed you, I wanna say. He waited for you and cried for you. But where were you? You don’t get to cry now. Nuh-uh. It’s too late.
But she keeps crying. Rocking and crying.
“Tammy and I can get you some help, Bren,” Momma says. “But you gotta really want it this time.”
“I don’t wanna live like this no more.”
“I know.” Momma waves Ms. Felicia over and hands Ms. Felicia her phone. “Look through my contacts and find Tammy Harris’s number. Call and tell her that her sister is here. Bren, when was the last time you ate?”
“I don’t know. I don’t—my baby.”
Momma straightens up and rubs Ms. Brenda’s shoulder. “I’m gonna get you some food.”
I follow Momma back. She walks kinda fast but passes the food and goes to the counter. She leans on it with her back to me and bows her head, not saying a word.
Everything I wanted to say in the waiting room comes bubbling out. “How come she gets to be upset? She wasn’t there for Khalil. You know how many times he cried about her? Birthdays, Christmas, all that. Why does she get to cry now?”
“Starr, please.”
“She hasn’t acted like a mom to him! Now all of a sudden, he’s her baby? It’s bullshit!”
Momma smacks the counter, and I jump. “Shut up!” she screams. She turns around, tears streaking her face. “That wasn’t some li’l friend of hers. That was her son, you hear me? Her son!” Her voice cracks. “She carried that boy, birthed that boy. And you have no right to judge her.”
I have cotton-mouth. “I—”
Momma closes her eyes. She massages her forehead. “I’m sorry. Fix her a plate, baby, okay? Fix her a plate.”
I do and put a little extra of everything on it. I take it to Ms. Brenda. She mumbles what sounds like “thank you” as she takes it.
When she looks at me through the red haze, Khalil’s eyes stare back at me, and I realize my mom’s right. Ms. Brenda is Khalil’s momma. Regardless.
SIX
My mom and I arrive at the police station at four thirty on the dot.
A handful of cops talk on phones, type on computers, or stand around. Normal stuff, like on Law & Order, but my breath catches. I count: One. Two. Three. Four. I lose count around twelve because the guns in their holsters are all I can see.