Total pages in book: 159
Estimated words: 149301 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 747(@200wpm)___ 597(@250wpm)___ 498(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 149301 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 747(@200wpm)___ 597(@250wpm)___ 498(@300wpm)
“Don’t get all excited now, calm down. Ain’t nobody pregnant.” She huffed, then sighed. Clearly disappointed just as quickly as she’d been enthusiastic. “I’m not in a relationship right now. I date, but I ain’t settled down or nothin’ like that, but uh, I met someone, and I think she might be a contender.”
“You like her a whole lot, don’t you?”
“She’s okay I guess.” He shrugged.
“You’ve always been an awful liar.” They laughed once again. She stroked his hair, then leaned her head against his shoulder. “Who’s the woman that’s caught your eye?”
He sat there a long while, not sure he wanted to speak on it after he’d already opened Pandora’s box. The other night, when he’d driven away from Poet’s house, he could smell her on his cloak. He envisioned doing all sorts of things to her when he had her pinned against her house, and kissed her.… things that would shock the shit out of her.
“You’re right. I’ve been lyin’. I hate liars… so I guess that means that right now, I hate myself, too.” He sighed, then fixed his gaze on the cards lying on his desk. “I met this lady named Poet. It was an accidental meeting, I guess you could say, Mama.”
“What a pretty name. Tell me more about her.” She wound her fingers around his, and squeezed.
“She’s from here, in Houston. Lives on her own farm. It’s small, but nice. She’s Black.”
Mama slowly lifted her head from his shoulder and smiled at him, then laughed lightly.
“What?” He smiled back at her.
“Nothin’ at all. Tell me more about her.”
“Okay. Well, she’s smart. I like that. An educator at the museum of natural history. She talks about indigenous animals, but taxidermy is her trade.” Mama nodded in understanding. “She does taxidermy for others, too. She’s good. I saw some of ’er work down at the museum. Mama, I feel somethin’ for her, and it’s strange, ’cause I felt somethin’ for her almost right away. Like, this chemistry. It was strong. Electric. From my head to my damn feet. I feel like I might be able to give her the things she can’t give herself, and she can do the same for me. I haven’t felt that in a long while… like a kindred spirit. I haven’t known her that long, but I want to get to know her better, spend some time with her as more than a friend, but she’s resistant. That makes me just want her all the more…”
“Of course it does.” Mama kissed his cheek. “You’re a born hunter.”
“Sometimes I think about her when I’m by myself, and I wonder… I wonder if she’s thinkin’ about me, too?”
“I can always do a reading,” she joked, and he smirked. “I love you, Kage. Mama just wants you to be happy.”
“I love you too, Mama. I know you do, and that’s fine by me…”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Dutch Braids and Eggplants
Sitting at her vintage pale pink vanity adorned with gold painted accents, Huni made haste in finishing the last twist of her braid. She’d parted her hair and divided it into two sections, affording her flawlessly interwoven Dutch braids. Winding the sturdy rubber band around the final strands of hair, she secured it in place. She dabbed her finger in perfumed oil and ran it gently across the two salt and pepper plaits that draped down her shoulders. Her tresses were silky and smooth, but far thinner than she recalled.
She leaned forward and studied her face, her smile slowly fading as she spotted a new gathering of wrinkles she hadn’t noticed the month prior. Reaching up, she circled her crow’s feet and the delicate crevices with a gentle touch. How cruel Father Time was, yet how beautiful Mother Nature reminded her that she was. She fell deep into the discolored memoirs of yesteryear.
The mirror reflected her past and future, cramped with yellowed photos wedged between the wooden frame and glass, mainly of her and her mother, brothers and sisters. Most of them were dead, with the exception of her eldest sister, who still lived in the Philippines, and a brother, who was in prison. Her husband, who’d passed away during a trucking accident, was featured in several of the photos, too, and of course there were an assortment of pictures of her holding onto a little brown girl with gorgeous jet black hair, who was now a grown woman full of whimsy, intelligence and beauty. Her daughter. Not by blood, but by love. Poet.
‘Listen to the Music,’ by the Doobie Brothers, played from her radio that she kept on the windowsill. She popped up from her little pink tufted velvet chair, and began to sway her skinny, knobby legs, while snapping her fingers to the tune. Memories living in Mandaluyong, Philippines rushed to the forefront of her mind. How scared but excited she’d been to travel to America, never expecting to stay forever—but she’d met someone in one of the Philippine communities in Texas, her dear Joselito, and fallen in love. So, she’d left her past far behind.