Foolish Summer | ✔

03 • S T E P H E N • 🍽️

"No girls?" Devon stumbled, tripping over his own feet. He managed to stay upright and keep his jogging pace.

"Or one girl of her choosing," I reminded him, jogging alongside him on the narrow dirt path.

Getting up at the ass crack of dawn for anything other than school might've sounded insane to anyone else, but I loved it. The running trails were basically deserted, which was perfect for when I needed to think. And I had a lot to think about.

With some effort I got Devon to run with me. A second opinion on my situation couldn't hurt. Plus, he had a car and my favorite running trail was too far of a walk-a spot up through a wooded area that led to a cliff overlooking the city. Mom also took my car keys along with all other aspects of my freedom.

In addition to me playing nice with Brad Mom wanted me to "be more conscious" of the girls I chose to associate myself with. Which was just her way of telling me that my personal life was making her look bad.

"C'mon, it's not like you're gonna let her set you up with anyone," he said. "Especially not one of the daughters of the Boujee Brigade."

The Boujee Brigade, which had some official sounding name I couldn't remember, was a group my mom was a part of with thirteen other Black women with large bank accounts. Think: Real Housewives of Atlanta, only with a little less drama and a lot more judgement.

Her position in their group was hanging on by a thread since the divorce. My dad was really the only reason she was accepted into the club. Everyone wanted to cozy up to the wife of the third best plastic surgeon in southern California.

Now that it was just my mom, a housewife without a husband, they were looking for any reason to ban her from the group. Which I guess meant even I had to be on my best behavior.

"Paris is kind of cute," I said, half heartedly.

"Promise Ring Paris?" He said, incredulous. "Paris who spends every second of her free time at the church? The same Paris who-"

"I got it, D. Thanks," I said. "It doesn't matter. All I gotta do is not bring girls to the house. Problem solved. It's not like my mom has eyes on me."

The quiet of the trail was interrupted by phone. The custom ringtone made me second guess my previous statement. I stopped jogging, Devon following suit.

I answered it, nervously checking over my shoulder. "Yeah, Ma?"

"That's not how you answer the phone, Stephen," she scolded. Her tone switched up as she said, "Brad wants to take us to dinner tonight."

Dinner with Brad. A couple of hours where all I had to do was not be my usual sarcastic self. I didn't think I was ready for that.

"Tonight?" I inhaled sharply, trying my best to sound disappointed. "I can't tonight. Devon needs me to... give him a line up."

Devon shook his head, taking a swig of his water.

"Well, tell Devon to find himself a new barber because you're going to be at Glasshouse at seven sharp and you will not be wearing basketball shorts." She left no room for an argument. "Also, you do this for me and I'll give you the car this weekend so you can go to that thing in Santa Monica."

That thing in Santa Monica was a book festival. I've gone every year for the past three years and every year my mom had something to say about it. But then I'd catch her reading one of the books I had brought back. Reading was one of the few things she and I had in common.

"Alright," I said. "So, do I have to call him daddy or are you only allowed to do that?"

"Goodbye, Stephen."