“They were kissing,” Amara informed him, her voice dropping even lower. “Kissing! Can you imagine? He was kissing an outside girl!”
Vin tugged at his collar, looking at the entrance door, looking uncomfortable. “That’s cool.”
Amara grinned. “Are you blushing?”
His chubby face flushed even more. “Of course not.”
Laughing, she nudged his side with her elbow and hobbled to the door. Ma always told her to never make people uncomfortable. Though Vin was her best friend, he was uncomfortable, so she stopped.
“Don’t go there alone again, okay?” he told her, entering the building behind her.
She went straight to her door and smiled at him. “Good night, Vinnie.”
He shook his head, heading towards the stairs, already knowing her well enough to know she would sneak out again. Amara watched his back under the lights in the hallway, seeing the bruise on his leg under his shorts turning a nasty color, but he wasn’t limping. She didn’t know what they were doing to train him, but she didn’t like it. Not one bit.
Angry at the thought of something hurting her friend, she opened the door to her apartment and entered the dim living room. It was late and her mother was most likely already asleep, tired from all the work she did during the day.
Her ma was the head housekeeper at the big mansion. She had joined as a cook in the kitchen and over the years gotten promoted. Now, she overlooked the entire kitchen and cleaning staff and the gardeners. And there were lots of them because the grounds were so big. It was one of the highest positions for the staff, which was why she had such a lovely apartment with three big bedrooms, even though it was just her and her mother. Her father had left them years ago. She remembered him sometimes, but she had always loved her mother more. As long as she had her ma, she was happy.
Making her way to the bathroom next to the living room where the first-aid kid was kept, Amara turned on the light.
“And where were you, young lady?”
Amara looked up at her ma, only a few inches taller than herself, her pleated hair falling over one shoulder. People said she looked like her – same dark green eyes, same inky black hair, same sun-kissed skin.
“I was walking with Vin,” Amara told her the half-truth, knowing her mother trusted Vin.
Ma shook her head, sighing, before her eyes fell to her knee. “Oh Mumu, what happened?” she asked, reverting to the little nickname she loved.
“I just fell, Ma,” she sat on the closed toilet seat, already knowing her mother would clean the little wound. As she thought, her mother quickly took out the box and got on her knees, putting Amara’s feet on her lap.
“Does it hurt, Mumu?” her ma asked her quietly. It did hurt. Amara shook her head. After her father left them, she had become her mother’s whole world. Any pain of hers, any happiness of hers, anything she felt, Ma felt. She was her other best friend.
“Ma?” Amara broke the silence as her mother put ointment on her wound, wondering if she should voice her question.
“Hmm?” her mother started putting the box away.
“You know Mr. Maroni’s son?” she asked finally, feeling her face heat oddly.
Her mother’s green eyes, so like her own, came to her. “Little Damien?”
Amara shook her head. “No, the older one.”
“Dante?”
Amara nodded, her heart thumping. Hopping down from the seat, she walked out to her bedroom as her mother followed, turning down the lights behind her. Amara walked to her closet and picked out her nightdress. She didn’t like to wear shorts or pants. Even for school, she preferred skirts and flowing dresses.
“Of course I know him,” her mother said. “Why?”
She sat on her bed as Amara stripped to her underwear with the pretty blue flowers and put on the simple cotton nightdress.
“I just saw him today, that’s all,” Amara tried to be casual as she climbed on her bed and sat in front of her mother. “You never speak of him.”
Feeling her mother’s hands in her long hair, Amara tilted her head back as the nightly braiding started. Braiding the hair at night, her mother always told her, made it more beautiful and healthy in the morning. For as long as she could remember, her mother had been braiding her hair every night, and every morning they were wavy and pretty.
“He’s a good boy, that one,” her mother told her, her hands moving.