“Nothing,” he said.
“What is it?”
“Not here.”
I furrowed my brow and squinted my eyes as Antony got up from the table.
“Thank you for breakfast, Mom. But it’s time I take a shower.”
“Good. You stink,” she said.
“Love you too, Mom.”
“And grab a biscuit to go! I made too many of them.”
“You want me to eat a biscuit in the shower?” he asked.
“She’s going to kill you,” I said.
“Take a biscuit and get yourself cleaned up,” she said. “I’ll take care of this mess.”
“Have you eaten, Mom?” Antony asked.
I turned around and watched my mother pause.
“Mom?” I asked.
“What?”
I looked over at Antony, and I saw him sigh.
“Come sit down, Mom.”
“No,” she said.
“Please?” I asked.
“I said ‘no.’”
“Then let us at least fix you a—”
“I said I don’t want to eat!”
She slammed her rag down onto the kitchen counter, and I saw it. For the first time. With my very own eyes. The woman who raised me and clothed me. Who chased me around the yard and beat my ass when I stepped out of line. The woman who prayed over my life every morning and tucked me in at night with kisses was hunched over the counter of our family kitchen, crying.
“Was this what you wanted to talk about?” I asked.
Antony shot me a look before he strode over to Mom.
I got up from the table and went over to her side. I wrapped my arms around her and pulled her close as Antony rubbed her back. There it was. The breakdown the two of us had been anticipating. Not once had we seen her cry, or lose it, or lose herself at all since our father had died.
“Ssshhh,” I said. “It’s okay. We’re here.”
“I miss him,” my mother said.
“We do, too,” Antony said.
“Why is he gone?” she asked.