Put Your Love On | obj | ✘

fifteen.

Omari had dropped his bags by the front door and made a mental note to trot them up to his room later. Right now, all he wanted to do was be welcomed home into the arms of his mother. The second he had walked into the kitchen, he could see his mother working rapidly on some of the food for tomorrow's Thanksgiving dinner. That always had been Rosalyn—she'd cook sun down until sun up, making sure that every dish she made was perfect.

"Hey baby," Rosalyn squealed, as Omari wrapped his strong arms around her small frame, rocking her side to side in his embrace.

Rosalyn Beckham was a woman who was only five-foot-one, and everyone in her household had towered over her, with the exception of her daughter, Imani, who was only an inch taller. Her hair was dyed a blonde, much like the curls on Omari's head, and it complimented her smooth, caramel skin well. While Omari had resembled his father, both of them having the same nose and eyes, Omari was nothing short of his mother's twin. She was a good women with an even better heart—not once did she judge, or hate anyone. Rosalyn always chose to pray for everyone, including her enemies, and leave things she couldn't control in God's hands.

"Hey momma," Omari pecked her cheek before pulling away with a smile that matched hers, "I missed you."

Immediately, Rosalyn's face had turned into a frown as she rested one of her hand on her hips, "Oh really? I couldn't tell because it seems like every time I've called these past two weeks, you didn't answer."

Omari threw his hands up in defeat before flashing his mother an innocent smile, "I was prepping for mid-term week, not to mention I have a two whole classes with tests to grade. I was a busy man."

Rosalyn hit him slightly with the kitchen towel that was gripped in her hand before turning back over to the stove, "Whatever. You're never too busy to talk to your momma, you hear me?"

"Yes, ma'am," Omari laughed, looking around the kitchen to see if there was any food he could get his hands on in that very moment.

"There's already a plate of food for you sittin' in that microwave, Omari," Rosalyn shook her head as she stirred the food that sat in one of the various pots.

"Bless you," Omari mumbled underneath of his breath as he maneuvered towards the microwave, "Where's Xavier and Imani?"

"Xavier won't be home until late tonight because his coach got their whole basketball team tickets to a Pelicans game before they go out to a team dinner," Rosalyn shrugged, "Something about friends and food. I don't know—"

"A friends-giving momma?" Omari laughed as he popped a forkful of macaroni and cheese into his mouth. He could have died a happy man right there because he missed his mother's cooking more than words could express.

"Yeah, that," Rosalyn waved her hand back and forth, "And Imani forced your daddy to take her to the mall so she could go and get a new shirt for tomorrow. She was complaining about how the one shirt she got is the wrong shade of orange and doesn't compliment her shoes or something. You know how she is with her fashion, and she sure enough got your daddy wrapped around her finger to make him take her to the mall."

"That girl twelve going on twenty," Omari shook his head with a laugh, thinking about how his little sister was growing up so quickly, "And pops ain't no help with that spoilin' her."

"You'll be the same way when you get your own," Rosalyn smirked before turning to look him over, "And speaking of, this is the second time you're coming home without someone for me to meet. I'm ready to be a grandma, when are you gonna give me the opportunity?"

Omari began to choke on his food, pounding at his chest, "Momma, I'm only twenty-seven. I got time."

"That's what you think," Rosalyn pointed at him, "Now I'm not sayin' rush it and go plant a seed in the first woman you see, but when you find the one? You trap her."