Psychopath. (bwwm) ✓

18. interracial preferences and losers.

Rolling my eyes, I scanned over the food she was making, the apron that Dad had bought her, tied around her waist, "I brought a friend," I stated, dropping my mouth open when she held a spoon of her homemade collard greens up.

Ma smiled at me as I chewed the food before running the spoon under the tap and wiping it with a towel. Handing it back, I saw her eyes lingering on Oliver who'd been convinced to indulge in one of Jackson's video games. The large screen tv had occupied both of their attention, "Emerson Riley, that's a white boy..."

She gave me a knowing glance, bumping my hip with hers and stirring her pot.

"Yeah, I know, Ma; I have eyes," I said, resting my hand on the countertop. If I didn't hurry up and leave she'd give me the talk about sex and interracial dating.

"Don't get smart," she reprimanded, smacking my butt hard, with her wooden spoon, as I walked by.

"Ow! Ma!"

She rolled her eyes at me, turning the eye of the stove off, her chicken Brest bites sitting pretty in the pan, "I didn't know you were into white boys."

"We're not dating."

She gave me that 'i-know-you're-lying' look, the one that every black mother can pull off, "Oh, I know what white chocolate can do to a girl, changes everything."

"Ma!" Peering into the living room, I let out a sigh of relief seeing that Oliver hadn't heard her. My mother lacked what was called a filter and it scared most people off.

"I'm just saying, it runs in the family."

And it did, my Step-Grandpa was Caucasian, Grandma was African American, passing on that everyone was equal and love was love. There was no room for debate about that in our family and race was never really a big issue.

She watched as I bit into the chicken bite she'd given me to try, it thankfully cooled. It was my favorite meal along with the homemade mac and cheese baking in the oven, "Your father and I are going out tonight, you're in charge and if Jackson so much as looks at the higher channels, I'ma rip his scrotum out, you hear me?"

"Loud and clear, Warden."

She glared playfully at me, pointing to the door with a big fork she was using to take the chicken out of the pan, "Get your ass out my kitchen."

"I love you, Ma," I teased, sticking my tongue out.

"Love you more, Bug."

Plopping down on the couch beside Oliver, I watched as he frantically pushed buttons, trying to beat Jackson in 2K15... You could clearly tell he sucked.

Shoving me slightly when I laughed, he got distracted, my brother stealing the ball and dribbling it down the court.

"Passes to Carmelo and he throws in a three! Yes son, and one," Jackson had laughed as Oliver fouled him but his shot still went in.

"You suck," I stated as Oliver glared at me, Jackson doing a celebration dance in his seat.

"Like you're any better," he challenged.

And never being the one to pass up a challenge, I rolled my eyes, "Jackson, pass me the controller."

For the next game, I proceeded to show Oliver how he'd lose gracefully.

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"Are you serious?" Oliver had wined, me stealing the ball yet again and Jackson had muttered something about choosing a team with a bad offense, us ignoring him again.