Page 24

T he sun was just starting to cut through the gray skies, casting a golden line across the top of the gates like it was offering me some kind of blessing. But I wasn’t ready to accept it. Not yet.

I’d stood in front of this place a hundred times before. Visiting hours. That damn metal detector. The hard plastic chairs. The phone that never worked right. The plastic table that separated me from the woman who raised me behind bars, but today was different.

Today, those gates will open. Today, thanks to Boston & Deuce’s connections, my mother was walking out of Bedford Hills Correctional Facility a free woman.

I wasn’t even sure what to feel. I’d been waiting for this day most of my life, but the emotions tangled inside me like barbed wire.

Relief. Guilt. Love. A bitterness I’d buried so deep that I thought it was gone until this moment, standing here, waiting.

For twenty years, I saw her in orange jumpsuits.

A number instead of a name. An inmate instead of a mother.

I memorized her smile like a prayer and hated the way the guards watched me hug her like it was contraband.

I’d leave every visit feeling hollow, like I had to be strong enough for both of us, and my pain had to remain quiet because hers was louder.

But now? Now she was walking through those gates.

Not as inmate #414808, but as my mama again, and that terrified me more than anything.

What do you say to a woman who missed your high school graduation?

Who wasn’t there when your heart got broken for the first time?

Who didn’t get to see the man you became on the outside, only the boy you left behind in the visiting room?

I shifted my stance, heart pounding, hands stuffed in my pockets to hide the shaking.

I was supposed to be cool. Solid. Unshakable.

I was Boris, my mama’s son, the one who held shit down.

But as those metal doors buzzed and began to creak open, I felt like I was thirteen years old again, waiting by the window for a woman who always came home late sometimes but still came home.

The gates creaked open, and out stepped my mother, a small bag in hand, walking slowly like she wasn’t sure if the ground under her feet was even real.

Her head was held high, though. Chin up, shoulders square—that pride in her spine, even after all life had tried to break her with, was still present.

She was wearing the outfit Olivia and Lexi picked out for her, and I swear to God, I almost turned around and asked the guards to take her ass back in until she changed.

It was tan, tight, and showed way too much leg.

The jacket was cropped, the top was low-cut, and I had to blink a few times to make sure I wasn’t hallucinating.

And the heels? Red-bottoms. Probably Lexi’s idea.

She was walking like she hadn’t been on anything taller than a flip-flop in twenty years, but she was trying to hold it together.

I ran a hand over my face and shook my head, chuckling under my breath.

“These damn women…” But still, she looked good—better than I expected.

Healthier. Hair long now, thick and full, flowing down her back in soft waves.

Time had aged her, sure, but it hadn’t taken her light.

She still had that quiet fire in her eyes, that same look I remembered from when I was a boy.

The one that told me even when she was tired, she wasn’t done.

She spotted me leaning against the car and stopped in her tracks. Her lips parted and her eyes glossed over. For a second, neither of us moved. We were scared that this moment might break if we breathed too loudly.

Then I opened my arms, and she didn’t hesitate. She dropped the bag and came to me fast. Those ridiculous heels clicked against the pavement like they had somewhere important to be. When she wrapped her arms around me, all I could do was hold her securely.

“Boris,” she whispered into my chest. “My baby.” She clung to me like she didn’t believe I was real and if she let go, the whole world would snap back into place, and she’d still be on the inside, looking out.

I held her tighter. “Nah,” I murmured, my throat tight. “Not no more, Ma. I'm a grown-ass man now. But I never stopped being yours.”

She cried then. The kind of tears you only let fall when nobody’s watching but the person who knows your whole story.

After a long moment, I leaned back and looked her up and down. “We gon’ talk about this outfit later,” I said, my face holding a frown.

She laughed through her tears, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. “Well, my daughter-in-law said I needed to make a statement.” She pursed her lips, and I chuckled because I could hear Olivia saying some shit like that.

“Yeah? Well, I’ll definitely be having a conversation with O. My mama ain’t going to be out here looking like a hoochie mama.”

“Hoochie mama? Boy, your mama is still fine as wine.” She smacked my chest lightly and smiled a real smile which I hadn’t seen in a few years.

“Come on, woman,” I said after a moment, my voice thick. “Let’s get you outta here.”

We walked to the back lot in silence, her steps slow, like she didn’t want to believe the ground under her feet was not the concrete behind the gate and within the walls she called home over the last twenty years.

I popped the locks on the sleek and clean white Benz parked by the curb, shining in the morning sun like it knew it had a job to do today.

Her eyes widened a little before she stopped. “Okay, son! I see you. I love it! Mama is about to ride out in style!”

I opened the passenger door for her, giving her a soft smile. “I’m glad you like it. This one’s yours.”

She blinked at me like she didn’t hear right. “Stop playing!”

“Nope. I know you can’t drive until you get your license, but this is your “welcome home” gift.”

“Aww! Boris, thank you, baby.” She gave me a hug.

“I can’t wait to drive this baby! I would drive it now, but I ain’t trying to get caught riding dirty on the same day I get out,” she said in a cackle, climbing into the passenger seat and running her hand over the leather as if she was touching something sacred.

I closed the door gently behind her and walked around to the driver’s side. When I got in, she was still looking around at the dashboard and trim, the fresh scent filling the cabin.

“I don’t even know how to act,” she said softly, a small laugh breaking through.

“You ain’t gotta act,” I told her, starting the engine. “Just breathe.”

She exhaled deep and shaky. I know it’s going to be a huge adjustment for my mother, but I will be here every step of the way to help her.

As I pulled off from the cold prison behind us, her hand reached across the console and rested lightly on my arm. “Thank you, son. I don’t know how you did it, but thank you for getting me out of there.” Her voice croaked.

“You don’t gotta thank me,” I said, eyes on the road. “We are just getting started.”

She looked out the window as we drove the lone road, her eyes moving over the passing streets like she was trying to memorize the world again.

“Are you nervous?” I asked, keeping my tone light.

She nodded but didn’t look at me. “A little. I don’t know who I am out here anymore. I’m not the woman I was when I went in… and I’m not sure who people expect me to be now.”

I thought about that, then said, “They don’t get to decide—you do. It’s going to take some time, but just take your time. Move on your own pace.”

She looked over at me, quiet for a beat. Then, she smiled. “You sound like your grandmother.”

“Yeah, well… that woman raised a tribe,” I said. “Including me. We are pulling up on her now.”

Her eyes widened. “Wait, what? Boris? Who’s house is this? And who do all these cars belong to?” she questioned, looking a bit uneasy.

I smirked. “It’s your welcome home party. Nothing big. Just family. You know Grandma… as soon as I told her about you getting released early, she pulled out the grill.”

Her hand covered her mouth. “Boris… I don’t think I’m ready?—”

“Yes, you are. It’s just immediate family. If you start feeling overwhelmed, just let me know, and I’ll get you outta there.”

“Okay,” she whispered.

As I parked, Grandma came waddling out the front door with her hands on her hips and a dish towel slung over her shoulder.

I got out first and came around to her side, opening the door.

My mother stepped out slowly, heels clicking on the pavement again, but this time with a little more pride in each step.

The second Grandma saw her, she froze. Then she moved fast for a seventy-something-year-old woman and wrapped my mother in a hug so tight it looked like she was trying to fold twenty years into one moment.

“My baby,” Grandma cried. “My baby’s home.”

That’s when the rest of the family caught on. Cheers went up. Some clapped. Some cried. Kids ran past with sticky fingers and paper plates, but all I could see was my mother standing in the middle of it all, soaking it in like she couldn’t believe it was real.

“Come on in here and let me feed my baby. I see jail was feeding you okay. Look at you… all thick.”

Grandma pulled my mama into the house while I stayed back, still processing everything. Just as I pulled out my cigar, Deuce came walking out of the house and over to where I was leaning up against the car.

“You good?” He placed his hand on my shoulder.

“Yeah. I’m just taking it all in. Thanks again, man. I owe you and Boston for this.” I gave Deuce a pound.

“No thanks needed. You are family.”

T he sun had started to set, and my grandmother’s backyard was filled with family and some people from the neighborhood. Music was bumping, and the grills were still smoking ribs, chicken, and hot dogs.