Cassandra: A Short Story by Amani
shower. “Don’t forget you have to take the kids to school tomorrow. I have to go to the office early.”
“I didn’t forget,” I said, closing the bathroom door. I looked in the mirror and sighed, it was time to get my dreads tightened up. Isis was going to be the first person I called tomorrow. I had no problem admitting I was an ugly motherfucker. Despite that I made sure to keep myself looking as good as possible, from my head right down to my pedicured feet.
When I came out of the bathroom Cat was sitting up in the bed with her arms folded across her chest. I climbed into bed. “Goodnight,” I said turning off the lamp.
“Don’t we need to talk about something?”
“There is nothing to talk about. That boy is not getting a tattoo.”
“What’s wrong with our son expressing himself?”
Expressing himself please. I think his only goal in this is pissing me off. “This is not about him expressing himself. This is about him trying to grow up too fast. Besides, I’m thirty-eight and I don’t have a tattoo, yet I express myself just fine.”
She leaned over and rubbed my chest. “Joe, if our kids don’t feel comfortable talking to us, they will start doing stuff behind our backs. They have to have some say in the decisions we make regarding them.”
“So, you want them to tell us how to raise them. Really? We’re not going to agree on this. Goodnight.” I clicked off the light.
She clicked back on the lights. “No, we are not done. I’m their mother and I have a say in raising them. If you think I’m going to sit back while you make all the decisions, then you got me confused with my mother.”
“Not this again. This has nothing to do with your mother. This is about you wanting to be their friend rather than their mother.”
We had this argument at least once a month. When it came to the kids there were very few decisions we agreed on. “Oh, so how I mother our children is wrong. So, I’m supposed to be more like your mother?”
It would’ve hurt less if she had hit me. I turned my back to her and pulled the covers up to my shoulders. “Love, I’m sorry. You know I didn’t mean that.” She put her finger in my dimple and twisted. I shooed her finger from my face and clicked off the lamp.
Thank you for reading books on BookFrom.Net
Share this book with friends
“I didn’t forget,” I said, closing the bathroom door. I looked in the mirror and sighed, it was time to get my dreads tightened up. Isis was going to be the first person I called tomorrow. I had no problem admitting I was an ugly motherfucker. Despite that I made sure to keep myself looking as good as possible, from my head right down to my pedicured feet.
When I came out of the bathroom Cat was sitting up in the bed with her arms folded across her chest. I climbed into bed. “Goodnight,” I said turning off the lamp.
“Don’t we need to talk about something?”
“There is nothing to talk about. That boy is not getting a tattoo.”
“What’s wrong with our son expressing himself?”
Expressing himself please. I think his only goal in this is pissing me off. “This is not about him expressing himself. This is about him trying to grow up too fast. Besides, I’m thirty-eight and I don’t have a tattoo, yet I express myself just fine.”
She leaned over and rubbed my chest. “Joe, if our kids don’t feel comfortable talking to us, they will start doing stuff behind our backs. They have to have some say in the decisions we make regarding them.”
“So, you want them to tell us how to raise them. Really? We’re not going to agree on this. Goodnight.” I clicked off the light.
She clicked back on the lights. “No, we are not done. I’m their mother and I have a say in raising them. If you think I’m going to sit back while you make all the decisions, then you got me confused with my mother.”
“Not this again. This has nothing to do with your mother. This is about you wanting to be their friend rather than their mother.”
We had this argument at least once a month. When it came to the kids there were very few decisions we agreed on. “Oh, so how I mother our children is wrong. So, I’m supposed to be more like your mother?”
It would’ve hurt less if she had hit me. I turned my back to her and pulled the covers up to my shoulders. “Love, I’m sorry. You know I didn’t mean that.” She put her finger in my dimple and twisted. I shooed her finger from my face and clicked off the lamp.