Not now. I was just sick with grief for him.
“What can I do?” I asked her, trying to think of something to do. I could have my mother make cinnamon rolls and take them over there. It seemed so silly and Southern, but I was clueless.
She gave me a soft smile. “Call him or go by to see him. That’s all any of us can do.”
I nodded and went through the motions of taking her payment and bagging her items. She took the bag and thanked me, and all I could do was nod again.
When she left, I headed for the back to find Momma. She was busy cleaning out the freezer when I walked into the kitchen. “Why are you not in the front? Is Rosa there?” she asked, frowning at me.
I walked up to her and hugged her tightly. More tightly than necessary, but she was here to bark at me and fuss at me. She was here to get angry with me for doing stupid things, and she was here to not understand me at all. She was here to love me unconditionally. My momma was alive.
Her arms finally came around me in a hug. “What is wrong with you?” she asked me.
I inhaled her scent and let myself enjoy the security of her arms. When I pulled back, I felt the tears stinging my eyes. “I love you. You know that, right?” I said.
She looked concerned and nodded slowly as if this was a trick question. “Why are you being so silly, girl?” she asked me then.
I smiled thinking how gruff this tiny woman was and terrifying when she wanted to be. Then I remembered immediately that Asa had lost his mother, and my chest ached again.
“Momma, Asa’s mother died of Covid yesterday,” I told her.
Her eyes went wide. “What? I hadn’t heard.”
“I know. Me either.”
She looked around the kitchen, then pointed at the door. “You go tell Rosa to work the front. I will make tamales and cinnamon rolls. You take them over to his family. Go wash up. You look a mess.”
I nodded and started to leave, then went to hug her one more time. She patted my back, then pulled away. “Go on, we have work to do. Poor child,” she said as she shook her head and headed into the cooler for supplies.
I Wish It Were Different CHAPTER 37
ASA
West was the only person in the apartment. He’d cleared people out shortly after he arrived. Nash had left too, with some lame excuse I didn’t believe. Once they were gone, West had looked at me and said, “You’re welcome. Go take a shower. Fucking cry. Take a moment to grieve however you want to grieve. Get it out.”
I’d done exactly that. I realized I wanted to cry. I wanted to sob. I was tired of pretending like I was dealing with it because I wasn’t. The emptiness in my chest wasn’t easing up. The moment the hot water hit my face, I let it go. Not caring if he could hear, because he had once felt what I was feeling.
I stayed in there until the water ran cold, then took my time getting dressed. Not having to speak or hold myself together helped. I’d needed a break from it all. The idea of everyone leaving had scared me before West arrived and made them go. I was afraid of being alone. He made it easier.
When I finished combing my hair, I heard voices and I stared at my reflection in the mirror, not sure I wanted to go back in there and see someone else. It could just be Maggie and if that was the case, I was okay with that. She was quiet and she, too, had lost her parents. I wouldn’t have to pretend to have myself together and dealing in front of her.
Opening the door, I walked back into the kitchen area and was almost to the living room when I recognized the other voice. I paused to make sure. She spoke again and I began to move. She was here. I hadn’t expected her to come.
I turned the corner, and West looked at me over her shoulder. Her back was to me. He nodded. “You have a visitor. With my favorite cinnamon rolls.”
Ezmita turned then, and she held a large brown bag in her hand. I glanced at it, then at her. She was nervous. I could tell. I wanted to reassure her, but I didn’t know how. I was emotionally drained and no good at that sort of thing right now.
“Momma sent cinnamon rolls and tamales,” she said, holding the bag up.
I walked over to her and took it. I had to say something. I wanted to apologize, but it seemed weak. She wasn’t here for an apology and I knew that. “Thank you,” I said to her, and took the bag.