Free Loose Ends by Electa Rome Parks Page B

said nonchalantly.
     
     
    “Doesn’t what?” I was confused.
     
     
    “Doesn’t think. Kree does what I tell her to. There isn’t any room for questioning anything.”
     
     
    “Man, you never cease to amaze me. Unbelievable.” I laughed.
     
     
    “Christian, I’m sorry if my views about marriage and relationships don’t agree with yours.”
     
     
    “To each his own. If Kree is cool with that, more power to you.”
     
     
    “And she is. Women won’t admit it, but they get off having a strong man telling them what to do. They’re like little children; they have to have rules to follow. They like for real men to handle things. Take control.”
     
     
    “Yeah, right. Tell that to all these independent, black women right here in Atlanta. They’d think that bullshit you’re spouting is something straight out of caveman days and that you’re a mental-ward escapee.”
     
     
    “Man, you can have any of these so-called independent women. Next they’ll be thinking they have balls and dicks too.”
     
     
    “Man, you are crazy! I mean crazy. We’ll just agree to disagree.” I threw up my hands in a truce.
     
     
    “That’s right. When I tell Kree to jump, she’d better ask how high.” He laughed at his own joke. “Just kidding.”
     
     
    Once again, I wasn’t too sure whether Brice was kidding or not.
     
     
    About ten minutes later we pulled up in front of the two-story brick house that was my home years earlier. Pleasant memories flooded my mind and hit me square in the face. I slowly got out of the car and followed Brice up the walkway to the front door.
     
     
    “Man, this still looks the same. Some things never change. God, this takes me back.”
     
     
    Before we could even ring the doorbell, Vivica, Brice’s moms, opened the door with a smile that could melt the hardest of hearts.
     
     
    “Christian, baby, come here and give me a big hug and kiss,” she said with outstretched arms.
     
     
    I couldn’t help but smile and oblige as I wrapped my arms around her petite body. This was the lady who was like a second moms to me after mine had died. Vivica had aged gracefully, with salt-and-pepper hair that was pinned up into a bun at the back of her neck.
     
     
    “Boy, I’ve missed you so much. Don’t you ever stay away like that again. You hear me?” She gave me another hug and looked me over.
     
     
    “I’ve missed you too, and I hear you, Mrs. Matthew.”
     
     
    “Mrs. Matthew?” she asked with confusion on her face.
     
     
    “I hear you, Moms.”
     
     
    “That’s better. You look good; you look happy. Now come on in this house.”
     
     
    When we finally made our way in, Brice spoke. “Oh, I bring Christian by and he gets all the love. No hellos for your dear, beloved son.”
     
     
    “Is that the son who was supposed to come by the other night with his wife for dinner?” she asked in a teasing voice.
     
     
    “Moms, you know this business has me coming and going. There is never enough time. Anyway, I called to cancel.” Brice kissed her on the cheek. “Where’s Pops?” he asked.
     
     
    “Oh, he’s sleeping. He sleeps less and less at night. At bedtime he is so restless. So during the day, he naps. Christian, make yourself at home while I check on our dinner.”
     
     
    As soon as she said that, I smelled the mouthwatering aromas drifting into the living room from the kitchen. Vivica could throw down on some country cooking. If memory served me right, I was sure she had a big pot of collard greens with okra, fried chicken or baked ham, corn bread, fried corn and tomatoes, iced tea and some type of dessert—probably sweet potato pie.
     
     
    I walked around the living room, picking up photos of Brice and me as preteens, teenagers and young adults. So many good memories surfaced. Brice was channel-surfing with the remote, trying to find a game on TV.
     
     
    “Hey, Moms, I’m going upstairs to check on Pops.”
     
     
    “Okay, baby.