RaShawn’s sister retreats a few steps, not quite wanting to turn her back on my mom. Better to just wander down the street with her butt intact. RaShawn’s sister might have bark, but Moms has rows and rows of teeth. To save face, the girl mutters something loud enough to let everyone know she is still talking but incoherent enough to not draw anymore of Moms’s temper in her direction.

“You got something to say? I can’t hear you.” Moms chops at her own throat with the edge of her hand acting like an ax head. “Here’s my neck. Come on with it.”

“Moms, she gone.” I tug at her arm not wanting to make eye contact with her myself. The hope I cling to is that this scene has spent her supply of tactical anger. Otherwise, she might be too hot to charm at the moment. There’s still a crowd gathered in our yard, but we have entertained them enough for one day. “Can we go inside?”

Tafrica and Wisdom grin and clasp hands like pleased diners pushing away from a buffet.

“What you all looking at?” Moms yells. “Show’s over. Everybody off my property.”

“What?” the twins say at once.

“Everybody. Out.” Moms locks on to each of them with her “target: acquiring” gaze. The kids scatter, though they grumble with disappointment. On most days they know that Kool-Aid and pizza rolls await them at casa de Mitchell. They will probably take their frustration out on RaShawn tomorrow. Thems are the breaks for letting someone else handle your business.

“Here’s my neck?” I ask Moms with the door barely closed behind us. “What does that even mean?”

She inhales and exhales deeply, like she’s shedding a skin. Her mood changes and her face softens once the door closes. A couple jokes is all Moms needs to calm down. “I have no idea. I was in the moment.”

“You were really feeling it.” Nehemiah offers a crooked smile. Partly in sympathy, since he so often gets caught up feeling it, and partly appreciative of her “feeling it” on his account.

She plunks her purse on the counter and starts to riffle through the cabinets. “Look here, feelings weren’t meant to be hidden behind walls. You need to bring out the right ones at the right moments. I’m grown and I’m still learning how to do this better, just so you know.”

“You all overprotective,” I say.

“Don’t give me ‘overprotective.’ Other moms can ‘not know’ where their kids are, but I’m going to know. And you’re going to know that I know. I don’t care if I have to fight the whole neighborhood if that’s what it takes to make sure you’re safe.” Moms whirls around and grips Nehemiah’s head to drag him over. “That goes for your grapefruit-sized head, too.”

Moms opens a few cabinets, spreading out bread and turkey and condiments, before stopping. Both her arms press against the counter like she’s desperately trying to hold herself up. Then she starts talking.