An hour after our little chat with Imani, the guys and I went back to my place. While they walked right to the basement, I searched upstairs in the kitchen for a pair of scissors that João had asked for to cut the plants of c******s downstairs, though I couldn’t focus.
Mom lugged her purse into the house, heavy, dark bags under her eyes and a smile that didn’t even make it past her lips. “You eat yet?” she asked, setting the bag down on the four-by-four kitchen table, on top of the mess of beer cans that Dad must’ve left earlier.
“Yeah.”
I grabbed a pair of scissors from the counter and turned around to ask her about work today, but she was already out of the room and up the stairs, gone, like she always was. I glanced at the basement door. I practically f*****g lived down there, which
