Oh, so now you keepin shit from me? We gon see about that.
First few days, they were okay. They had Hawaiian rolls. Half a dozen eggs. Quarter jar of peanut butter. Two TV dinners and three pot pies in the freezer.
Day four, it got tight.
Day five, Dasia and Gabe split the final pot pie.
(Quan didn’t eat.)
Gabe complained that he was still hungry, so Quan gave him the slice of crap pizza he’d smuggled from school.
(Quan stayed hungry.)
Day six, Quan smuggled home two slices.
And after getting Gabe in bed—Dasia plopped down on the couch, turned the TV on, and crossed her arms when Quan said it was time for bed (She was still hungry.)—Quan left the house.
He walked six minutes to a corner store he knew was owned by an elderly man who lived in the neighborhood. He’d been there a bunch of times, sent by Mama with $10 in his pocket to grab some milk or hot dogs or jelly when they were on the verge of running out.
Wasn’t no money in his pocket now, but he went in anyway.
The old man smiled and waved at Quan as he entered. Then he excused himself and went to the bathroom.
Leaving the store wide open to Quan.
Trusting him.
As soon as the door to the storage room shut behind the old man, Quan gulped.
He looked left.
He looked right.
Then he grabbed a loaf of bread and a jar of peanut butter, and he walked out of the store.
His First Time.
Stealing.
* * *
—
Dasia cried as she bit into the peanut butter sandwich Quan handed her after waking her up. She’d fallen asleep in front of the TV.
Arms still crossed.
* * *
—
Day seven, the COAN came back.
With groceries.
It’s not that Quan doesn’t like his cousin Emmanuel.
He just don’t know what the hell to say to the dude.
They occupy different universes, the boys do. Despite being blood. Emmanuel’s—excuse him: Manny’s—mama is Quan’s mama’s older half-sister. From what Quan understands, the two women didn’t grow up together. His grandfather was apparently a bit of a “rolling stone,” as Quan’s mama put it, and she, Trish, was the product of one of said rolls into a different flower bed.
Granddad stayed with his original family, aka “Aunt Tiff” (Quan’s never called her that. He’s never called her anything.) and her mom.
Tiff hadn’t even known Mama—Trish—existed until Mama’s—Trish’s—mama died and Tiff/Trish’s shared daddy had a crisis of conscience and spilled the beans.
There was one time Mama had one glass of wine too many, and Tiff called to “check in.” As soon as Mama hung up, she looked at Quan and said, “You ever wonder if my ‘big sis’ ”—she’d used air quotes and everything—“only keeps in touch cuz she feels guilty about the fact that she had a daddy growing up, and I didn’t?”
Quan didn’t answer. He was eight at the time and had just returned from a weekend at his daddy’s house.
Anyway.
Manny.
All Quan really knows is Manny’s a year older and they have nothing in common.
They accidentally made eye contact once.
Quan looked away faster than the speed of light.
He’s looked everywhere but at Manny since the two boys and their mamas took their seats around the table at this fancy-ass restaurant. Quan knows the place is mad fancy cuz the entire back wall where they’re sitting is made of glass and he can see the smooth surface of a river just beyond it.
Shit is always fancy if it’s on a river.
“You really don’t have to cover us, Tiffany,” Mama says.
“Nonsense,” comes the reply. Aunt Tiff flicks the thought away like some irking insect, and the light catches on the boulder in her diamond ring.
Rings.
Cuz there’s more than one.
“I haven’t seen you in forever, baby sis,” Tiff continues. “Lunch is the least I can do.”
And it truly is. The least.
Quan knows Aunt Tiff and her husband got mega money. That they live out in Oak Ridge, which everybody knows is the most expensive part of Atlanta. That his cousin-he-don’t-have-nothin’-to-say-to climbed out the passenger side of a Jag that surely has booty-warmers in the seats.
What would Manny say if he knew Mama’s comment about Tiff not covering them was for show? They barely had food at home, so there’s no way in Quan’s universe they could afford to eat at this river restaurant.
Would big ballin’ cuzzo bug out if he knew the real reason Mama’s wearing a long-sleeved, turtleneck dress that goes down to her ankles when it’s eighty-three degrees outside?
Quan knows Manny’s dad is some financial investment big shot. Does Manny know Quan’s daddy is locked up?
Quan is sure Manny’s eyes would go all big if he knew Quan sometimes stole stuff. That Manny’s butt would clench up and all the moisture would leave his mouth (with them white-ass, straight-ass, perfect-ass teeth) if he knew that the moment Quan saw the ice on “Aunt Tiff’s” fingers and wrists, his mind started calculating. Running through all the stuff he could afford for himself and his siblings with just one of her rings. Quan has never stolen jewelry or anything with value like that before, but still.
Different universes.
The food arrives: sweet potato fries and a lamb burger for Quan (without the fig jam and goat cheese that were supposed to be on it, because what even is that shit and why would anyone put it on a burger?).
Asparagus (gross), some creamy white stuff that ain’t mashed potatoes, and a hunk of pink fish with the silvery skin still on top for Manny.
Salmon, Quan remembers. Because Manny ordered it without even looking at the menu.
This clearly isn’t Manny’s first time at the river restaurant. But Quan’s 98 percent sure it’ll be his (Quan’s) last.
Quan sighs.
Manny does too.
But they don’t see each other.
And they certainly don’t speak.