Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 107960 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 540(@200wpm)___ 432(@250wpm)___ 360(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107960 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 540(@200wpm)___ 432(@250wpm)___ 360(@300wpm)
Mama smiled as she stirred a large pot sitting atop one of her three industrial stoves. “Sounds like goodness.”
“It is. But I’ve sure missed this.” Trent took his plate to the dishwasher in back and set it on the rack. It was as if nothing had changed. This had been his home away from home at one point. Where he’d come every day after his mom left him with her musician boyfriend to go work her late shift. It was a time in his life that Bishop hadn’t been much a part of because he never understood Trent’s fascination for rhythm and blues. But it was never about the music only. It was the love and sense of belonging this kind of music gave him, the family it introduced him to. Only Trent had been too young to understand then that blood didn’t make anyone family. “The club still looks and feel the same, Mama. I see all the upgrades are still done on your kitchen first.”
“You know it,” she said. “People come for the music and the food. That means I need a stage that won’t cave in and a clean place to cook.”
“Well. I do like the new barstools,” Trent added quietly.
“Oh honey. What’s going on? You think I don’t know when my son is down?” Mama asked one of her kitchen assistants to take over her orders while she sat with him at a large island used for prepping food. “I’ve been crazy about you ever since Miles first started begging me to let him bring you here at night. He said he couldn’t stand to leave you home with a pack of ramen noodles and bologna for dinner anymore. Even threatened to take his band elsewhere if I didn’t.”
Trent smiled. He never knew that information.
“He brought you here that first night and you looked around at all these black folks and I thought you were gonna mess your pants.” Mama laughed, reaching up and brushing some hair behind his ear. “But I just wrapped you in my arms and hugged you. Held you like that for so long until you finally hugged me back.”
“I didn’t know what the hell I was supposed to do. I was fourteen and I’d never had a hug,” Trent confessed.
“I know,” Mama said affectionately. “That’s why I gave you one every chance I got.”
“And food… a lot of food.” Trent added, reclining on the stool feeling as if he was too stuffed to stay upright.
“And the food is still right here. All you had to do was come home to get it.”
“I wish everyone had been here when I came home,” Trent mumbled, finally getting to the point of how he’d ended up here.
“I had a feeling that’s what all this melancholy was about. You’re still upset at Miles for leaving the way he did,” Mama responded, never one to beat around the bush. “And you want answers.”
“Yes.”
“Unfortunately it’s not a fascinating tale, and it’s not a long one. It’s the classic case of a man falling in love with a woman and her kid. He falls out of love with the woman… but falls even harder for the kid.”
Trent could already feel the emotion building. Miles had been the father he really wanted. The father he’d deserved for all the hell his mom had put him through with dealing with loser after loser boyfriend. Why couldn’t she have let him have Miles?
“It was like the only time you didn’t get into trouble with that hardheaded Bishop was when Miles wasn’t on tour. But he struggled with being there for you and keeping up with the demands of his band. It nearly killed him, Trent, when he came back that last time and your mother had let them take you to juvenile detention at sixteen without so much as a why.”
“I’d messed up again, fighting, angry as usual,” Trent remembered. Remembered how lonely he’d been when Miles was gone and the lashing out because of it.
“Let me tell you something,” Mama said sternly. “Miles meant a lot to me—he was like another son. If anyone had the talent to make it all the way, it was him. But he lost his drive when he realized he had to let you go. He left the music circuit and went to San Diego after his mother had a stroke and never returned. He told me he left you his heart. The only inheritance he had to give you.”
“His music.” Trent answered her unspoken question, thinking of the hundreds of rare, collectible albums he had at home.
Mama nodded regrettably as if she understood. “He fought for you tooth and nail, but your mom refused to let him adopt you without—”
“Without what?” Trent prompted after she stopped and turned away. He needed to know. “He wanted to adopt me at sixteen. Why didn’t she let him? She didn’t give a damn about me or my fucked-up life!”