Page 37 of On You 2

“Khalil?” she repeated, sounding like she’d already called my name a few times.

She probably had, but I was so deep in my head that hearing anything besides hearing Harold find his brother dead felt damn near impossible.

“Yeah, ma.”

She stood in the doorway with one hand on the frame, looking exhausted from work.

“Rami and I are about to walk down to Grimaldi’s to get a pizza. We're getting that and a bag of chips. You okay with pepperoni, right?”

“Yeah, ma. Pepperoni sounds good, but uh, one second.”

I walked into the closet where I had the stack of money from the crime scene hidden underneath an old shoebox full of papers and random junk. It was ten thousand dollars.

I’d counted it before stashing it away and still couldn’t believe that much money was sitting in my closet. Some of the bills were stained with blood around the edges, but most of the money in the middle looked clean. If somebody didn’t know what happened, they probably wouldn’t think twice about it.

I thumbed through the stack and pulled out a hundred-dollar bill.

“Boy, hurry up out of there and tell me what you want,” she called out. “My feet hurting, but your brother insists on pizza tonight.”

I quickly shoved the rest of the money back into the closet before she decided to come any farther into my room.

When I walked back over, I handed her the hundred-dollar bill.

“Where did you get this from, Khalil?”

“I've been taking trash out in the apartment building down the street for this old lady for about a month now, after school. This was my first payment from her, but at least it was a good one.” I shrugged my shoulders like it wasn’t shit.

My mama kept staring at the money for another second like she wanted to question me harder, but I never really gave her a reason to think I was lying.

Truth was, my mama trusted me more than she probably should’ve. She had been leaving me and Rami home alone at night ever since I was around ten years old. Technically, she probably could’ve gotten locked up for that, but desperation makes people do what they gotta do.

After my stepfather, George, died coming home from work years ago, everything changed for us almost overnight. I was now the man of the house, and there was no adult here with us while my mama was gone to work. She was working sunup to sundown over at the Quatar household, just trying to keep bills paid and food inside the refrigerator. She ain’t really have a choice but to leave us home alone while she works.

Back then, nights usually ended the same way. Dinner would already be cooked with instructions for me to warm it up later. She’d point her finger at both of us, reminding us not to open the door for anybody, no matter who knocked. Then she’d kiss me and Rami on the forehead before rushing out to go spend her days taking care of kids that weren’t even hers.

“Khalil, I can’t take your hard earned money to buy pizza. You should put this in savings to pay for that trip to the White House this summer, since you know I won’t have the extra money either.”

“You unfortunately never do, Mom,” I muttered under my breath.

“Khalil. What does that mean? You know Ms. Amelia is struggling after Mecca’s death.”

“And how many years have we struggled while you took care of them?” My voice only raised slightly before I told myself that I was tripping, and I brought my tone down a notch.

“Look, ma, I will worry about the D.C. trip later, but right now, I just want you and Rami not to have to split a pizza and fill up on Pringles. Get a large pepperoni-and-sausage pizza with extra cheese. And an order of those cannolis, too.”

She exhaled, looked at the money again, and then I saw her giving in on her face.

“Alright, if you insist. We will be back shortly.”

“Okay, ma.” She got ready to walk out the door, before I stopped her.

“Hey ma, would you mind if I run down the street to talk to Harold real fast?”

She smiled at me immediately, and I already knew where she was about to go with it.

“Talk to Harold, or his sister, who you call yourself liking?” She laughed, one of those deep laughs that always managed to make me smile a little, no matter what mood I was in.

“Oh, Niara? I ain’t worried about that girl. I need to talk to Harold about some sh—stuff.” I caught myself before the curse word fully slipped out.