Chapter 7
Aunt Renee called me at 2:13 in the afternoon.
I was on the commercial site, forty feet above the floor on a scissor lift, helping Leon pull wire.
I felt my phone buzz.
I ignored it.
Then it buzzed again.
And again.
Three calls.
Our family rule had become simple.
One call could wait.
Three meant emergency.
I told Leon.
He lowered the lift.
I stepped into the hallway and called back.
Aunt Renee answered immediately.
“Your mama is in the hospital.”
Everything inside me stopped.
“What happened?”
“She passed out at work.”
“Is she awake?”
“Yes.”
“What did they say?”
“They're running tests.”
“What hospital?”
She told me.
I checked flights before she finished speaking.
The prices were ridiculous.
Bus would take six hours.
Train wasn't much better.
“I'll come tonight.”
“Malik.”
“What?”
“She told me not to call you.”
That hurt.
“Why?”
“Because she knew you'd leave work.”
“I don't care about work.”
“Yes, you do.”
“My mother is in the hospital.”
“And she's awake.”
I closed my eyes.
“What happened?”
“She hadn't eaten.”
“What?”
“She worked her regular shift yesterday, then the nursing home overnight because somebody called off.”
“She worked overnight?”
“Then she went straight back to her day job.”
My anger returned.
“At what point was she planning to sleep?”
“She wasn't thinking.”
“Clearly.”
Aunt Renee sighed.
“Doctor thinks exhaustion and dehydration, but they're checking everything.”
I leaned against the wall.
“I’m coming.”
“You do what you need to do.”
That was all she said.
No guilt.
No pressure.
Just choice.
I told Mr. Harris.
He listened.
Then asked, “What do you want to do?”
“I need to go home.”
“Then go.”
“I might miss tomorrow.”
“Family emergency policy covers it.”
Relief hit me.
“I didn't know.”
“You didn't ask.”
He handed me my time sheet.
“Handle your business.”
I took the evening bus.
Six hours later, I walked into Mom's hospital room.
She looked furious.
“You came?”
“Good to see you too.”
“I told Renee not to call you.”
“And she ignored you.”
“Apparently nobody respects me anymore.”
Aunt Renee laughed from the corner.
“About time.”
Mom tried not to smile.
Then I saw how tired she looked.
Not normal tired.
Her face seemed smaller.
Older.
I sat beside her.
“What were you thinking?”
She looked down.
“I needed money.”
“The rent is paid.”
“Bills keep coming.”
“So you work yourself into a hospital?”
“I was trying not to ask you.”
My anger disappeared.
“Mom.”
“I said things to you before you left that I can't take back.”
“This isn't how you fix it.”
“I know.”
“You don't prove anything by collapsing.”
“I know.”
I looked at her IV.
“What did the doctor say?”
“Exhaustion. Low blood sugar. Dehydration.”
“So you're okay?”
“Yes.”
Aunt Renee cleared her throat.
“The doctor also said stress is making her blood pressure worse.”
Mom rolled her eyes.
“Renee.”
“What? He asked.”
I stared at Mom.
“How bad?”
“Manageable.”
“If you take care of yourself,” Aunt Renee added.
I rubbed my face.
Nia was sleeping at Aunt Renee's.
School the next day.
For once, adults had planned ahead.
That mattered.
Then the room door opened.
Curtis stepped inside.
Everybody froze.
He wore work boots and a dark warehouse jacket.
His eyes moved from Mom to me.
“What are you doing here?” Mom asked.
“Aunt Renee called me too.”
Renee raised both hands.
“I refuse to apologize.”
Curtis stepped closer.
“You okay?”
Mom nodded.
He looked at the IV.
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
Silence filled the room.
Then Curtis said, “I'll cover your weekend shift.”
Mom frowned.
“What?”
“At the nursing home.”
“You can't do my job.”
“No. I mean financially.”
Mom stared at him.
Curtis continued.
“I got paid today.”
“You need your money.”
“So do you.”
Mom opened her mouth.
He shook his head.
“Don't.”
We all stared at him.
He swallowed.
“I owe you more than one paycheck.”
Mom's eyes filled.
Curtis took out an envelope and placed it on the table.
“Three hundred.”
She didn't touch it.
“Curtis—”
“I sold the car. I'm staying with Marcus. I take the bus to work. I have enough for this week.”
Mom looked at me.
I shrugged.
This wasn't my decision.
Finally she picked up the envelope.
“Thank you.”
Curtis nodded.
Then he looked at me.
“You staying tonight?”
“Yeah.”
“I'll take the couch at Renee's.”
I almost laughed.
“She's going to love that.”
Aunt Renee shook her head.
“You're sleeping on the floor. My couch is new.”
For a few seconds, all four of us laughed.
It felt strange.
Painful.
Good.
Like remembering how to be a family without pretending nothing had happened.
Mom came home the next day with strict instructions to rest.
She hated every second.
Aunt Renee took charge.
Nia made Mom a sign:
NO WORKING OR AUNT RENEE WILL YELL.
Mom taped it to the refrigerator.
I had to return to Chicago Sunday evening.
Before I left, Mom handed me a container of food.
“You cooked?”
“No. Renee did.”
“Good.”
She smacked my arm.
Then hugged me.
A real hug.
No bill.
No request.
No guilt.
“I'm proud of you,” she whispered.
I went still.
“What?”
She pulled back.
“You heard me.”
I had.
I just needed to hear it twice.
“For Chicago?”
“For leaving.”
That surprised me.
Mom's eyes filled.
“I hated it because I thought you leaving meant I failed.”
I swallowed.
“And then?”
“Then I realized keeping you stuck would've been the failure.”
I hugged her again.
On the bus, I cried quietly near the window.
Nobody noticed.
Or if they did, nobody said anything.
The commercial job got harder.
Long days.
Early mornings.
More responsibility.
Leon started trusting me with tasks instead of watching every move.
One afternoon, he handed me a blueprint.
“Tell me where these circuits land.”
I studied it.
Answered.
He nodded.
“Good.”
That one word still mattered.
My second month in Chicago, I had nearly three thousand dollars saved.
Not because I earned a fortune.
Because no one was draining my account.
I started thinking about the future.
Community college classes.
Certification.
Maybe my own apartment after the apprenticeship.
Maybe a car.
Things I had never allowed myself to imagine.
Nia visited for the first time in November.
Mom and Aunt Renee brought her for a weekend.
The second Nia entered my apartment, she inspected everything.
“This is your kitchen?”
“Yes.”
“Where's all the food?”
I opened the cabinet.
She frowned.
“You have rice, noodles, cereal, peanut butter and coffee.”
“That is food.”
“That is sad.”
Mom burst out laughing.
She'd gained back some of the weight she'd lost.
She had quit the nursing-home job.
Curtis was contributing one hundred dollars a week toward what he owed her.
He still wasn't living at home.
Trust was returning slowly.
That Saturday, I showed them Chicago.
Nothing expensive.
The lake.
Downtown.
A free museum day.
Pizza.
Nia stared at the buildings like she'd entered another planet.
At night, she stood by my bedroom window.
“Do you miss home?”
“Sometimes.”
“Do you miss me?”
“Every day.”
“Do you want to come back?”
The question surprised me.
“To live?”
She nodded.
I looked around.
“No.”
Her face fell slightly.
I crouched.
“That doesn't mean I don't love you.”
“I know.”
“This is home too now.”
She thought about that.
“Can people have two homes?”
“I think so.”
“Can I?”
“Absolutely.”
She smiled.
The next morning, Curtis called Mom.
She put him on video.
Nia immediately grabbed the phone.
“Curtis!”
His face lit up.
“Hey, bug.”
Mom tensed slightly.
Nia didn't.
Children sometimes forgive faster than adults.
But then she surprised all of us.
“Why did you use my number?”
Curtis's smile disappeared.
Mom looked at me.
I said nothing.
Nia continued.
“Mom explained.”
Curtis swallowed.
“Nia…”
“Why?”
He looked like he wanted to disappear.
Finally he said, “Because I was selfish.”
She frowned.
“That's it?”
“No.”
He rubbed his face.
“I wanted money. I wanted people to think I was doing good. And instead of working for it, I kept trying shortcuts.”
“Did you know it could hurt me?”
“Yes.”
Mom inhaled.
Curtis's eyes filled.
“I told myself I'd fix it before it hurt you. That was a lie I told myself because I wanted to do what I wanted.”
Nia went quiet.
Then she asked, “Are you still selfish?”
I almost choked.
Mom covered her mouth.
Curtis actually laughed.
“Sometimes.”
“That's bad.”
“I know.”
“Malik says you have a job.”
“I do.”
“Do you go every day?”
“Yes.”
“Even when you don't want to?”
“Yeah.”
She considered this.
“That's good.”
Curtis nodded.
“I'm trying.”
Nia handed the phone back to Mom.
No dramatic forgiveness.
No perfect ending.
Just truth.
It was better.
Sunday afternoon, before they left, Mom pulled me aside.
“Your apprenticeship coordinator called me.”
My eyes widened.
“What?”
“Mr. Harris.”
“Why?”
“He needed emergency-contact paperwork updated.”
I relaxed.
“And?”
Mom smiled.
“He said you're one of the strongest first-year apprentices.”
Heat rushed to my face.
“He said that?”
“He did.”
“He doesn't compliment anybody.”
“Then I guess he meant it.”
I looked away, smiling.
Mom touched my cheek.
“Your father would've lost his mind.”
I laughed.
“He'd probably ask why I'm not a journeyman yet.”
“Exactly.”
Then Mom's expression changed.
“There is something I need to tell you.”
My smile faded.
“What?”
“Curtis's case.”
“What about it?”
“He accepted a plea agreement.”
I had known charges were likely.
Still, hearing it felt heavy.
“What does that mean?”
“Probation. Restitution. Community service.”
“No jail?”
“Not if he follows everything.”
I nodded slowly.
“That sounds fair.”
Mom hesitated.
“But there was another condition.”
“What?”
“He has to testify against the people he was working with.”
My stomach tightened.
“Okay.”
“He's scared.”
“I would be too.”
“Police think they can protect him.”
“But?”
Mom looked toward Nia, who was taking pictures of Andre's ridiculous houseplant.
“Curtis wants to move.”
“Where?”
“Chicago.”
I stared at her.
“No.”
Mom almost smiled.
“I knew you'd say that.”
“Mom.”
“He isn't asking to live with you.”
“That was my next question.”
“He found out the warehouse company has a location outside Chicago.”
I folded my arms.
“He wants a transfer.”
“And you're telling me because?”
“He asked if you would meet him.”
I looked out the window.
The old version of me would've immediately asked what Curtis needed.
Money?
Housing?
Transportation?
Help?
The new version asked something different.
“What does he want to talk about?”
May you like
Mom answered quietly.
“You.”
