The Last One

Chapter 1

Isis Dobbs crept through the front door of her mother’s brownstone, looking like yesterday, smelling like tomorrow. The cold brisk New York air rushed in behind her. Pies and cakes made from scratch permeated throughout. The legendary James Brown, Godfather of soul, returned home to glory that morning. His electrifying voice boomed through the surround sound hook up, please, please, please.

Isis kicked off her wheat-colored, lady Timberlands, and inhaled the mixture of aromas. She removed her wool coat and hung it neatly in the closet. She stood there for a second, in deep thought, underneath the mistletoe that hung high above her head.

The hardest working man in show business resounding in her ear, his begging, it dug into her soul. She imagined him there with her, his pivotal presence, shouting vocals, and a flashy suit. She smiled. Her smile quickly faded as her brother Chauncey descended from his room, wearing a ripped Hard Knock Life tee shirt and boxers. His finger extended high into his left nostril, while scratching his right ass-cheek. He looked at her and nodded his head. She returned the gesture and watched him make his way towards the bathroom.

Nasty bastard, she mumbled.

Isis and her older brother Chauncey lived in a Brooklyn Brownstone with their mother, Tracy. Their five-bedroom, two-bath house sat off a tree-lined street in the heart of Fort Greene. Tracy occupied the apartment on the second floor, while giving her children access to the lower level.

The structure was built in the early nineteen hundreds, one of the oldest buildings still standing in their neighborhood. Tracy and her husband purchased the property shortly after Isis was born. Over time, Tracy restored the home’s elegance by enhancing its already vintage look. Its old world original splendor and modern upgrades made her a proud homeowner.

Isis made her way towards the kitchen where she found her mother. Tracy wore an irritated expression while eyeballed the almost-empty gallon of milk. She slammed the refrigerator door shut, rattling the contents within.

Chauncey! Tracy yelled out.

What he do now?

Tracy whirled around, brought both hands to her chest.

Dammit, Isis, you scared me.

Good morning. Isis sauntered in towards the ovens warmth. Six layered cake, with coconut filling sat out like a work of art.

Tracy wrapped her loving arms around her daughter and planted a kiss against her cheek. Her mother smelled sweet, like honey and vanilla extract.

Happy Birthday! How does it feel to be of legal age?

Isis shrugged. It’s alright, I guess.

That day, December 25th, a star was born. It was Isis’ birthday, Jesus’ birthday, and the day James Brown returned to the essence. That day was monumental. It was history. Tracy released the hold she had on her daughter, took a few steps back, and looked her child over from head to toe.

Isis was dressed in the same blue jeans and sweater from the day before. Tracy ignored the stale stench that rose from her clothing. She figured her daughter was out partying hard, sweating underneath dimly lit track lighting at some club, bouncing like a jackrabbit in heat. This, of course, was her perception to the way it was. When Tracy was her daughter’s age, she had partied hard, shaking a leg or two back in her day.

I see you managed to get your hair done. It looks good, Tracy said while staring at her daughter. Her baby, her second-born, was twenty-one years old.

I got it done yesterday, Isis said, glad to still have some bounce after the night she had. She fingered her curls.

The hardest working man in show business has gone home, Tracy sighed.

She was a true connoisseur of music. Her appreciation for the art ranged from old school to new school. When an artist passed on, a piece of Tracy went with them. She connected with the artist’s words, their lifestyle. She often joked about being kin-folk to some of the best and wicked in-laws to some of the worst.

When the news of Gerald Levert seeped through the wire, Tracy cried for days, wouldn’t eat anything, and barely got out of bed. When the notorious B.I.G was gunned down, Tracy took part in the Bedstuy parade, shouting, We love you, Big Poppa! When Aaliyah’s plane crash hit the airwaves, Tracy flipped from CNN to BET, tearfully hoping and praying that there were some survivors. When Rick James kicked the bucket, Tracy laughed and cried herself to sleep; reciting his most unforgettable I’m Rick James bitch.

I heard on my way home this morning. It’s all over the radio. Isis stopped speaking when she saw her brother emerge with her son in tow.

"Happy Birthday to you, Merry Christmas to you, Happy Birthday to you…" Her son Ivan sang to his own beat. Isis held her arms open for him. He made his way towards his mother, eyes beaming with joy. Their connection was interrupted by Chauncey. He scooped young Ivan off his feet and tossed him in the air.

"What’s up Lil-man?"

Ivan’s laughter filled the room.

Tracy noticed the unpleasant look on her daughter’s face.

Chauncey, you know that’s a Goddamn shame.

Chauncey stopped tossing his nephew and held him upside down by the legs. What’s a Goddamn shame, what I do?

Why did you drink up all the milk? You know damn well I bought that milk for my Mac and Cheese, my cakes, and pies.

Chauncey and Ivan both laughed. Ivan. Now you know better than that. Tell Grandma sorry.

Ivan’s little mouth dropped open. "Unt-ah, Grandma, he did it. He drank up all the milk last night."

Chauncey tickled Ivan. Oh, so it was me who did it? Oh, okay, it was me who ate the whole box of Cinnamon Toast Crunch. Ivan still dangled upside down. His laughter, borderline screaming, elevated several notches.

"Okay… okay… okay, I’m sorry. He could hardly breathe. Okay, Uncle C. let me go, please. I’m sorry."

Let the child go already! Tracy demanded.

Chauncey turned Ivan right side up and placed him firmly on his feet. Ivan jumped into his mother’s arms and hugged her tightly. She could smell toothpaste on his breath. Isis yawned.

Stop that. Tracy pointed her wooden spoon.

Stop what momma, Isis asked, yawning a second time.

That, that what you just did… It’s contagious. I’ve been up almost a solid twenty four so don’t bring that tired mess in here.

Isis couldn’t help it. Cemented blocks were attached to her lids. She craved a hot shower, and her bed.

Hey, baby, you miss me?

Ivan nodded yes. Guess what?

What?

Ivan looked up towards his Uncle C, then back towards his mother. He cupped his hand around her ear for privacy, and whispered. A great big smile formed on Isis’ face.

Of course you can open up your Christmas gifts.

Isis, along with Tracy and Chauncey, followed Ivan into the living room. A ten-foot, white, artificial tree stood off to the side, by the fireplace. Red lacy ribbons, silver ornaments, and lights decorated the bush. A black angel holding a harp sat at the throne. Tracy grabbed her remote control and lowered James’ voice to a whisper. Ivan grabbed the largest box and looked up for approval.

"Yes, open that one first," Tracy said, for she was the one who had purchased the gift. Isis took a seat next to her mother on the sofa, while Chauncey videotaped memories.

This is Ivan’s fourth Christmas. Say hi, Ivan.

"What’s up Uncle C!"

Everyone laughed.

They sat back and watched Ivan tear into his gifts. Toys, clothes, shoes, and more toys covered the hardwood floors. Ivan’s eyes ballooned when he came across his new Hot-Wheel collection. His little fingers tore into boxes bigger than him. It would be the first Christmas Ivan would actually remember. He looked over at his mother, who could barely keep her eyes open.

Tracy nudged her daughter. You need some coffee, Red Bull, cup with sugar? she whispered.

No. I need some sleep, Isis said, placing both feet beneath her. She struggled to stay awake, but sleep was wining that battle.

Her lack of attention irritated Chauncey in the worst way. Was it too much to ask of her to pay attention to her son? Isis yawned again, her eyes, halfway closed. She licked her lips, her head dozed. She caught herself.

That’s nice, Ivan.

Chauncey pointed the camera at Isis. And this is Ivan’s mother, Isis. She’s tired from running the streets all night long. Today is her birthday and…

Why would you say that on camera? Isis narrowed her eyes in on him, her face tight with anger.

Tracy gave her son a warning look. He kept the camera on Isis, held it steady, and asked, So you left your son at home, alone with his grandmother, on Christmas Eve, to do what again?

Get that camera out my face, Isis shouted.

You been out all night long, I think you owe your son an explanation. Tell him how, whatever it is you do at night… is more important than he is.

Isis turned towards her mother. Get your son before I hurt him. She pointed at him. I will fuck him up… I swear to God. She closed her eyes, next her fist.

Chauncey wasn’t yet satisfied. He turned the video camera and pointed it at Ivan.

Ivan, your mommy is a chicken-head. It’s best you find out early.

Isis jumped to her feet and lunged at Chauncey. The camera went tumbling to the floor. Ivan was now in tears, his Christmas ruined. Tracy jumped to her feet to intervene.

That’s it… you get the hell out of here. She pushed Chauncey. Go. Now I said!

Chauncey didn’t budge.

Isis began to pace the floors, fully awake and ready to throw blows with her brother. Sibling rivalry would be an understatement. Isis wanted to cause bodily harm. She hated him; he felt the same about her. Tracy tried to calm her down, but Isis was too far-gone to reason with.

Isis set her sights on a metal poker used to maintain their winter fires. She grabbed hold of the iron and charged after Chauncey. She swung. He ducked, but a second too late. She whacked him across the back twice before he was able to grab the object from her hands.

That’s enough, I said. Tracy wrapped her arms around Isis, knowing Chauncey wouldn’t swing while she was in arm’s reach.

That’s enough, God Dammit! Tracy’s voice drowned out the screams of her grandson.

Ivan’s nose dripped, his eyes watered.

"Grandma, Grandma…heeezzzzz. Deep breath. Heeeezzzzzz."

Chauncey scooped Ivan into his arms.

"You scared Uncle C gon’ beat your mommy’s ass?"

Ivan cried louder. His frail body jerked with each sniffle. Chauncey’s downcast eyes met his nephew’s. He felt sorry for the boy. His sister had not a single maternal bone in her body. She didn’t deserve to me called mother.

Isis lived at home with her mother, not because she wanted to, but because it was the right thing to do. Her son needed a stable environment to grow up in. It was mostly her mother’s idea that she stayed there. It was no secret that Isis ran the streets way too often to pay any attention to a growing boy. Being a mother required her to be home at decent hours of the day, cooking, cleaning, and helping Ivan with his school work.

Ivan was in preschool, learning new and exciting things. To leave Ivan solely in Isis’ care would stunt his growth tremendously. He needed to be in an environment that was conducive to learning the right things, instead of the wrong things.

As Tracy held onto Isis, she cried. She loved her daughter dearly, but hated the choices she had made. Isis’ ways were much like her deceased husband. She led the pack into the wilderness with blazing artillery, stepping over fallen soldiers, and taking what she desired. Isis adhered to her own rules, she created her own guidelines. She was thickheaded and stubborn, just like her daddy.

All sorts of thoughts scattered about in Tracy’s head. How could two people with the same blood pumping through their veins hate each other so much? She birthed two beautiful children, from the same womb, yet they treated strangers on the street better than they treated each other. How could such malice and mayhem exist amongst a brother and sister?

Chauncey stood there, shaking his head for a second, wondering how they could possibly be related. He hated that bitch with a passion. At times, he wished she had never been born. He would have done well as an only child. With half of a decade between them, Chauncey and Isis never agreed on anything.

His eyes held a slight tint of red. He was high off weed for sure, a habitual smoker. Chauncey was taller than most of their family. He stood exactly six feet, three inches, wearing a size thirteen shoe. His solid frame, lanky yet ripped with unmerited muscle. His cocoa infused skin, thin mustache, and simple Caesar cut brought much character to his face.

Isis broke away from her mothers embrace. Her cold eyes cut Chauncey down to size. Her hips knocked side to side as she walked swiftly across the room.

Isis yanked her son out of Chauncey’s arms. Get the fuck off my son. You’sa bitch ass homo, I hate you.

I’m… a homo? Chauncey laughed. Picture that.

Give me my grandbaby. You both ruined his… Tracy sucked in her bottom lip, refusing to let her grandson see her upset. Ivan climbed into the only arms he truly felt safe in. Tracy held her grandson’s head. "Shush, shush, shush… it’s okay, baby."

How many times a week does your son see you? Twice, three times if he’s lucky. How many times a week does he see his father?

"Why you so concerned with what I do, Chauncey? You all up in my ass, worried about what I’m doing, what his father is doing… how about you focus on what the hell it is you should be doing."

Chauncey folded his arms across his chest, metal pole still in hand.

Where’s his father? Why didn’t he show his face this morning? Oh, I forgot, he had to stop by and play Santa Claus to the other ten children he’s got. I heard he got another on the way from this chick name Mallory. Chauncey laughed. And you thought you were special.

The truth hurt. The last time Isis heard, Barry had ten kids. He sowed his seed in the vaginas of woman across the five boroughs, populating a slew of bastard children. Isis wasn’t his first baby’s mother, but had been his last up until three years ago. She ranked number seven on the totem pole, securing her seat long enough to see through her last trimester. She was lucky. Barry’s other baby mommas all seemed to be pregnant within months of each other. Ivan was just two days old when Isis heard about some chick supposedly being six weeks pregnant with his child. This crushed her.

Damn, son, it’s like that? You got to put me down in order to make yourself feel good?

He smiled a devilish smile. I just call it like I see it.

Isis paused. She looked into her son’s face. He didn’t deserve any of this. His father gave money, but not his time. Isis recognized her mistakes too. She wasn’t exempt to the raw deal Ivan was served. Her role as a mother was just as vital as a father’s security. Isis gave her brother a challenging look. She wondered if Chauncey got off by hearing himself argue with her. He was a stone cold bitch in her eyes. She felt no love for the dude who shared the last name Dobbs.

Isis clapped her hands together. A wicked smiled came forth, and then faded. Discomfort clouded her face. She tried to suppress the moment and stay strong.

You know what… I applaud you for staying true to who you are. You’re a lame. She shrugged her shoulders.

You can’t help but hate on me. Shit, if I were you, I would hate on me too. I mean, it’s got to be kind of hard to still live under your mother’s roof at twenty-six. She scratched the side of her head. Dude, you knocking on thirty and have yet to establish a plan. When are you going to grow up? Get a job, you fucking bum.

The smile on Chauncey’s face melted away. His look was serious. He licked his lips to speak, but Isis cut him off.

Last time I checked, I paid the mother-fucking bills around here. I keep the lights on; I bring food up in this house. All you do is eat up the food and blame it on my baby. How lame is that?

That’s enough, Tracy spoke up.

"Naw, unt-ah, Mommy, he started. He ruined my son’s Christmas, Isis shouted. Chauncey, you’sa bitch ass, broke ass, sorry excuse for a…"

"Stop it! Laawwwddd, ya’ll about to send me to the hospital. I can’t take this. Just stop it!"

Isis ignored her mother’s plea. She had him right where she wanted him. By the nuts, and the jugular, vice-gripped.

Why don’t you stop hating on Barry, it’s not attractive, she said aggressively. We all know he got a football team worth of kids. So fucking what! You just mad he got that paper and you don’t. When you’re ready to make some real money… Isis smiled and winked her eye. I’ll put in a good word for you and your partner, Tony. I hear he’s living off some bitch now. Ya’ll niggas are so lame. So fucking pathetic.

His body tensed as she spoke. Her words were disrespectful. Her facetious tone poked fun at his manhood. Bitch, you don’t know shit about what I do, or what I got. Barry can’t do anything for me. You think because this nigga buy you shit that he cares about you? Chauncey laughed. Bitch, please, you just another one of his baby mommas, sucking his dick whenever he say so. You ain’t special, Isis. Your pussy is contaminated, you nasty hooker.

Tracy thought that she would die. The words that came from her kid’s mouth brought tears to her eyes. They were family, and family did not treat each other like that. Family looked out for each other, protected each other, and respected each other. Isis and Chauncey broke each other down to the very last compound. Tracy took a deep breath, and spoke in a tone that underlined each word. "We… are… Family!"

Chauncey sucked his teeth. Naw, Ma’, she’s nothing to me. I don’t claim people like her to be my family. She’s a snake, an outsider. She’s a poor excuse for a mother. I hate… Chauncey held back. The tears in his mother’s eyes were uncontrollable. He could see the pain he was causing her. He swallowed hard. Ma, I’m sorry but your daughter needs to take some responsibility for Ivan. She needs to be a mother to her son.

I thought paying the bills and keeping food in this house is taking care of my responsibilities. How about you bring some food to the table for once? Oh, I forgot, you still moving baggies getting thirty off a bill. I see. That explains everything. You better off getting a job making minimum wage. It pays better.

That was it. Chauncey had enough. He dropped the metal pole and moved in on Isis.

"No. Stop it," Tracy screamed. She placed Ivan on the sofa and went to help her daughter.

Don’t you dare put your hands on my baby, get off her now. She pounded at her son’s back.

Get off my baby!

Chauncey lifted Isis from off her feet. The chokehold he had on her made it difficult to breathe. Chauncey set out to damage the little bitch permanently. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head. Tracy lost control. She grabbed the metal poker and started whacking her son across the head. His grip loosened, then released. He held the back of his head. He saw blood. Tracy was out of breath, but looked like she wanted to swing again. He held up his hands in a surrendering fashion.

The struggle was over… The battle had just begun.

Chapter 2

Keisha hung onto Isis’ every word. The passion in her eyes beamed forth as she imagined herself there, in the midst of it all. She wished she could have been a fly on the wall, an extra set of eyes and ears to absorb all the drama that surrounded her friend Isis. The adventures of Isis kept Keisha up many nights laughing, crying, sometimes numb to feeling any emotions at all. Isis shared the good, the bad, and the ugly of her life. Keisha was a homebody, and saw much of what she thought life was about through the eyes of Isis.

You found a pair of cum-stained panties in the back seat of his truck? Keisha exploded with disbelief.

Isis nodded her head vigorously. Her animated expression sent Keisha into a tear-jerking, stomach-cramping, overzealous laugh. Isis’ sarcastic, sadistic sense of humor usually kept Keisha in stitches. Girl, yes, then he had the nerve to try and say that they were mine.

Keisha brought both hands to her mouth. No. Stop it, girl. You’re lying!

The fluttering of Isis’ eyes meant that she was about to say something outrageously funny, or immensely disrespectful. Keisha braced herself, hanging off the edge of the bed; she waited for Isis to dish her dirty little secret.

"First of all, I wear a size six in panties; whatever bitch he had in his truck wore a size ten. Secondly, nothing but Victoria’s Secret is allowed on my ass. And thirdly, I haven’t seen him in over a week." She paused then fluttered her eyes once again.

On top of that, I don’t fuck in cars, trucks, highways or byways. That’s just tacky.

Keisha laughed, and then looked at her friend, crazy. She opened her mouth to speak but Isis cut her off.

Shut up, I already know what you’re going to say. I fucked David in the back of his Yukon cause’ he had just paid for my ticket to Cancun. I got caught up in the moment. That’s an isolated situation, which happened when I was eighteen, so don’t go there.

Okay, let’s not act brand new.

Isis tossed a pillow at Keisha. I said let’s not go there.

Keisha caught the pillow in mid-air. Okay, finish the story.

Isis stood up and began to pace the floors of her bedroom. The more she thought about the cum-stained panties, the madder she became. It wasn’t like she cared much for the dude; it was the principal behind it. He was nobody as far as she was concerned. I can’t believe this lame ass dude tried to play me, she thought to herself. On top of that, I had to come home to Chauncey’s bullshit.

Shortly after Chauncey physically attacked her, Isis took a long hot shower, ate some of her mother’s down home cooking, and caught up on some well-needed rest. She viewed her brother’s sudden violent nature as a threat. Arguing was one thing, but for him to choke her, now that was something different. Isis was still at a loss for words. Her mother also had yet to comprehend all that transpired between them.

A written family rule had been broken. Tracy demanded that Chauncey left her home or she would call the police. For the first time in a long time, Tracy had actually taken up for Isis. Normally, she stayed out of their mess, with an occasional Respect my house! Lecture. The attack on her daughter obviously had not sat well with her. With the flip of a switch, Tracy forgot Chauncey was her son. She saw a deranged man with large hands, choking the existence from her daughter. Without thought, or rationalization, Tracy protected her baby.

So, what else happened? Keisha asked, interrupting Isis’ thoughts.

Isis stopped in front of her vanity mirror and checked her hair. Thoughts of the cum-stained panties quickly faded as she admired herself. Approval stretched across her lips. Some called her vain, conceited, excessively arrogant, bigheaded, cocky, and full of herself. Isis would agree with it all.

Girl, that Infusion weave is off the chain. It look’s so natural. It look’s so real. How much did it cost?

Isis swung her long mane over her shoulders, shook it freely and smiled. Her hair was double espresso brown, with simple shades of amber copper highlights. The colors in her hair in conjunction with her icy grey eyes and pecan-colored skin made her face radiate.

Two-thousand.

You paid two-thou for a weave? Hell, I could have sown you one in for just twenty dollars and a pack of grape now-a-laters.

Isis and Keisha both laughed at the thought. There was no way in hell Isis would let Keisha near her hair, not even for a single solitary second. Keisha specialized in ponytails, not weave ponytails, but single, plain Jane ponytails. Hair gel and a hard wooden brush were her best friends. Isis insisted, suggested and flat out offered to pay for a new hairdo for Keisha. Keisha always refused by saying, My ponytail works just fine. It’s easy maintenance.

Isis quickly explained the difference between an Infusion and a sew-in weave, cost versus quality, tracks versus glue.

Anyway, what was I saying? Isis asked, having lost her train of thought.

Cum-stained panties! Keisha blurted out.

She snapped her fingers. Right, can you believe him?

Damn, Isis, he really tried to insult your intelligence.

Isis plopped down next to Keisha on her king size, pillow top mattress, compliments of her baby’s daddy.

Dude is a real clown. After we got to the hotel, I gave him the time of his life.

Wait a minute! You still gave him some? Keisha asked, as if she didn’t already know the answer.

No doubt, I took care of my business, sent his ass straight to sleep. I pulled the lining from his pockets and bounced.

Keisha inhaled sharply. Just when she thought she had seen and heard it all from her, Isis dropped another bombshell.

Girl, you are crazy!

"He had it coming. He should have known better than to pick me up with some bitch’s panties in the back seat, cum-stained panties at that."

Keisha snickered.

I took him for all his loot. He had a shit load of cash.

Keisha’s eyes widened. How much?

Isis propped herself up on a stack of pillows and pressed her lips together. Keisha and Isis had been best friends since the first grade, so she knew exactly what that look meant. It meant that Isis had done the unthinkable. It meant that her level of running game on a dude had elevated to the next level. It meant that she had done some wild, crazy mess and there was no turning back from it. Isis licked her lips, torturing Keisha by the second. Her eyes penetrated her friend’s eager spirit through and through. The expression on Keisha’s face made doing what she did that more worthwhile.

Eight thizz-ou, Isis whispered.

"You stole eight thousand dollars from him?"

Isis’ eyes ballooned. Shushhhh!

Keisha’s eyes were misty from excitement. She took a deep breath and apologized for her outburst.

"Girl, I took all of his money, even the fiddy-two cents in change."

Keisha was in tears. She could hardly breathe. She laughed so hard she almost wet her pants. Isis sat with her back erect, thoroughly pleased with the stomach cramping laughter inflicted upon her friend.

Who you think paid for my hair, my nails, and those badass Gucci pumps? Isis pointed towards the floor. Keisha grabbed for the shoe, hating that Isis wore only a size seven.

There was a knock at the door. Before Isis could respond, the door swung open. In walked Chauncey carrying Ivan in his arms. Isis had not seen her brother since early that morning. She was surprised to see him back home so soon. Tracy had been so sincere with her threats to call the police.

Isis was impressed with her mother’s use of a pole. She recalled times when her mother had drawn blood from her daddy’s head with the use of ashtrays, crowbars, liquor bottles, anything that would cause damage. She stood to her feet, ready to respond to any sudden movement. He got the ups on her the first time, this time she was ready. I wish he would try that shit again. The urge to attack him grew stronger. She wanted to get even, make him feel what she felt. Then she thought about how it might affect her son. He’s already seen enough. Isis backed off.

Hi, Chauncey! Keisha chimed in. She sat off towards the rear of the room, remaining unnoticed as usual. Chauncey took a few steps further into the large open space, walking heavy against the wood floors.

Hold up, who said you were welcomed?

Chauncey ignored Isis and kept his eyes fixed on Keisha.

I didn’t know you were here. Where’s my hug at?

Keisha giggled and stood to her feet slowly. Any other time, she would have jumped to her feet, but that day, she took her time, rising slowly, more sure of herself. Isis took note of this. Isis saw her friend turn to mush right before her eyes, this was normal. When Chauncey entered a room, Keisha lost all track of time.

Keisha melted the moment he wrapped his arms around her frame. She inhaled the herbal scent that came from his cotton shirt. The intense feeling she felt at the center of her jeans hardened her nipples. A soft sensual groan escaped her lips.

Isis watched the two of them embrace. They held each other a second longer than usual, this she also took note of. Isis cleared her throat. Chauncey released Keisha, running his fingers freely along the base of her back. He could tell that she enjoyed his touch. This too, Isis took note of.

I see you got your braces off, your teeth looks good.

Keisha’s heart pounded against her chest. Oh my God, he noticed.

Thanks, she said covering her smile.

Isis sucked her teeth, shifting the energy in the room.

Yo’ obviously you ain’t hear me the first time. Get lost, beat it, get the fuck outta hear! Isis said in a thick New York accent.

He glanced back at his sister and laughed. He mumbled something underneath his breath. Isis folded her arms across her chest. Excuse me, what was that?

Isis, Keisha called out. She hated when they argued. Isis told her all that transpired between the two of them early that morning. She would do anything to diffuse the situation.

Your son was halfway out the front door. I thought I’d bring him to you.

Isis snatched Ivan by his shirt collar. Did you go outside without Grandma?

Ivan shielded his head, just in case.

Ma is upstairs taking a nap, so Ivan has to stay with you. That is unless you want him outside, alone.

Isis released the collar of her son’s shirt and looked up at her brother, giving him the evil eye. Her five fingers spread apart, just inches from his face. She fought back the urge to slap him.

Bye, Chauncey.

His jaw clinched. Get yo’ stank-ass hands out my face.

Make me.

She was looking for a fight, looking for a reason to have his butt kicked out. He refused to feed into her drama. Chauncey gave his nephew a high five and headed towards the door. He turned back to look at his number one nemesis.

You might want to keep an eye on him. It would be a shame if Child Services came through and scooped him up. He winked his eye, and then slammed the door.

Isis turned on her heels. Was that a threat?

Keisha didn’t answer.

I hate that… She held her tongue for the sake of Ivan.

Ivan ran towards Keisha and jumped into her lap.

Hi Keisha!

Hi Ivan!

Did you bring me a gift, Keisha?

Isis brought both hands together, making a clasping sound.

That’s not polite.

Keisha giggled. It’s all good. In fact, I did bring you a gift.

For-real? Ooh, can I have it, please?

Ivan and Keisha seemed to be in a world of their own. He sat on her lap, swinging his feet, talking her ear off about all the toys he got for Christmas. He even told her about his mother’s fight with Uncle Chauncey.

Yep, and Grandma bashed him with the pole.

Keisha tried not to laugh, but she couldn’t help it.

Ivan, what I tell you about telling my business. What happens in this house…

… stays in this house, but it’s just Keisha.

I don’t care, Isis snapped.

Ivan, like many other children was too smart for his own good. Isis’ cell phone vibrated against her vanity. It was Barry calling. She skipped the pleasantries and got straight to beefing.

I’ve been calling you all day long. Where you been? Her voice was cold and heavy.

There was silence, then some static.

Barry! She screamed into the phone.

Isis saw the excitement on her sons face.

I’m getting bad reception in here. Keisha, keep an eye on him for a second.

Isis slipped on her house shoes and pulled a N.Y.U sweater over her head. She decided to take her call outside, into the cold brisk city air. She swung open the door, and there stood Barry holding a large, red sac full of gifts. He was dressed in a red velour jogging suit, wearing a Santa hat to match. He noticed her position beneath the mistletoe. She rejected his kiss.

Don’t even try it. Where the hell you been all day?

He handed