"If you don't get yo ass up" My momma yells at me as she throws my bedroom door open.
"Mommy" I whine rolling around in my bed. I believe I was supposed to be up thirty or so minutes ago to go to church but lord am I tired.
"No, you should've taken yo ass to bed when I told you to" She scolds me as if I'm not 18 years old.
"Mom, I'm 18 not a child with a bedtime"
"Whatever. Get up or I will drag you to church regardless of you looking like a wet, featherless owl. Have you seen a wet owl? very ugly, I seen it on my Facebook" The blinds open, lighting up the room. I squeeze my eyes shut wanting only 5 more minutes to rest.
"get up, I'm not telling you again" she says before leaving and shutting the door behind her.
after a minute of trying to go back to sleep, I start fighting the air because I'm not tired anymore.
I groan inwardly as I pull myself out of bed and regretfully start getting ready for church.
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"How's the baby" The pastor's wife, asks me with a fake smile on her face.
"Good and healthy" I add a little too much cheerfulness in my tone so she knows I'm faking it. Maybe I'm petty, actually, I know I'm petty but I'm only petty when need be..
This lady, regardless of how devoted to god she is, swears down I mess with her husband. Nobody wants that old shriveled balled headed man. He's nice and a great preacher though.
Also, there were few people that liked me at the church because of my young pregnancy but I learned not to care about those things. Quite frankly the men I seem to go for are the exact opposite of holy.
"That's all we can hope for" she laughs back at me, swatting my shoulder lightly. I give her a small giggle and a big smile in return before escaping to find my mother.
I walk outside to see if she was talking to somebody mama at the park that was beside the church for the kids who attended Sunday school.
As I leave out the church side door and walk down the steps a figure catches my eye.
Turning my head quickly I see a tall porcelain-colored man, dressed in a black Armani tracksuit.
There will sometimes be white folks that come to our church but it rare. I know for a fact that the man who is holding eye contact with me with his hands resting in his pockets, is not supposed to be here.
I quickly walk a crossed the graveled walkway toward him, grabbing his wrist.
As I pull him towards the side of the church so he's not just standing in front of it like a weirdo, he slips his wrist out of my hand and replaces it with his palm.
"Why are you here" I stress the 'here' part because this is my home town and he's supposed to be in Russia visiting his dad right now.
"I missed you two" He steps away from the wall, closer to me, wrapping a long arm around my waist.
