“Okay. I thought we was, were, talking about food or something.”

“Oh, yeah, what do I cook best?”

“Pies,” Trevor says, handing me a glass of something light yellow. Probably Squirt and Tanqueray.

“Yeah, all your pies are the bomb, Ma, but you make good cakes, too. And some of them cookies be jamming. Why, you think you might wanna cook this kinda stuff?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. We’ll see.”

“But what would people eat to go with it?”

“You can specialize,” I say.

“I know that,” Trevor says. “That’s what Felix and I plan to do.”

“Felix is a fag,” Monique says, standing in the doorway in her pajamas. She’s laughing, and then Tiffany starts in, too.

“So what, so am I,” Trevor says, and I almost choke on my drink.

“We been knew that,” Tiffany says. “Everybody know it, so what’s the big deal?”

I don’t say a word. As a matter of fact, I pretend like I didn’t even hear him say it. I just stare at the TV and drink my drink until it’s gone.

“No comment from you, Ma?” he says, looking up at me.

I swallow hard. I’m trying to figure out the right thing to say, but I don’t know what that is. My daughters don’t seem to be having no problems with this news, which apparently ain’t news to them. Shit, he’s their only brother and he act like a damn girl.

“It’s okay, Ma,” he says.

“No, wait a minute. All I can say right now is this. First of all, I thought the correct word was ‘homosexual.’ ”

He looks shocked. So do Tiffany and Monique. I almost feel a grin coming across my face, but I don’t wanna push it.

“That’s the technical term,” he says.

“Well, whatever you think you are, or whatever you wanna be, is up to you. I can’t stop you from doing or being whatever is in you, just as long as you ain’t going through these antics to get attention.”

“Why would I wanna do that?” he asks.

“I don’t know. But pour me another drink, would you, Trevor? Y’all getting on my nerves. And, Tiffany, there’s a stain on the back of your shorts.”

She twists her neck around and looks down at her behind, but she can’t see it like that. “Never mind, Trevor. I’ll get it myself.” I take my empty glass over to our little bar. “Tiffany, let me ask you a question, since we all in a confessing mood. When was you gon’ tell me you got your period?”

“Ma, you should get over here,” Trevor’s saying.

“Wait a minute! I asked you a question, missy.”

“I did tell you, Ma.”

“No you didn’t.”

“Ma, I’m serious!” Trevor screams.

“Goddamnit, I said just a minute!”

“Yes I did. Three months ago.”

“Then how come I don’t remember it?”

“ ’Cause you had been drinking a little bit that night, I guess.”

“Ma, you’ve got all five of the Little Lotto numbers!”