The Deadline. KiKi Swinson

for a hug. My mother still looked good for her age. She was curvaceous like me, and although I’d taken after my father with my hazel eyes and sandy brown hair, I had my mother’s shape. We both stood five-five and had Coke-bottle shapes—flat stomachs, small waists, and nice round hips. My mother was gorgeous back in her day. The drugs had taken a bit of a toll on her looks, but not as bad as some other addicts I’d seen in my lifetime. I was just glad she’d made it out on the other side.

      “Hey, Mama!” I returned the greeting and walked into her embrace. I closed my eyes for a few seconds, appreciating the love. She smelled like warm cocoa butter as usual. That was a secret she’d passed down—cocoa butter to keep the skin looking young. The smell made me feel nostalgic and loved.

      “Okay . . . what’s wrong? You know I can sense it as soon as I touch you,” my mother said, her tone serious as she pulled away from me so she could look at me. I could see the concern in her eyes. “You and Kyle have that twin bond and can feel each other’s pain, but I have that special bond with both of y’all. I know every time something is not right with either one of you.” She continued looking me over hard, as if she would be able to tell what was bothering me by sight.

      I sighed loudly. My mother had been saying that same thing all of our lives. She always told us that her bond and her ability to feel what we felt when we were happy, sad, hurting, or in distress was how she knew we were in danger the day my father was murdered. That was how she’d busted in with the cops and saved us in the nick of time. I sighed again and flopped down on her couch. I leaned my head back and stared up at the ceiling in silence for a few minutes. I had to gather my thoughts on how I was going to talk about how I was feeling. I was stuck between looking weak and helpless (something I hated to portray), or just being honest so I could get shit off my chest.

      “C’mon, I’m waiting to hear what is going on,” my mother pressed, not giving up. “And you know I am not going to stop, so you might as well just tell me. I don’t take no for an answer when it comes to my children being in distress.”

      I sat back up and shook my head. There was no fighting my mother on this, because I would be fighting a losing battle with her.

      “It’s this job,” I groaned, swiping my hands over my face. I was exhausted just bringing up the topic.

      “I thought you loved the job,” my mother questioned, sitting next to me on the couch.

      “I do . . . I mean, I did . . . It’s just that . . .” I didn’t even know what I was trying to say. My brain was muddled with the pressures of nabbing the perfect breaking-news story. All I could think about was Christian’s threats and her nasty ways. It was a lot to process and to talk about all at once. I was silently wishing I’d chosen to go to Starbucks, instead of coming to see my mother. I wasn’t a talker like this. I’d failed at therapy for years because of it. I was a suffer-in-silence person who just made shit happen in my life. This was difficult. “I don’t even know where to start. It’s just a lot,” I finally said, dreading to reiterate what had gone on back at the office today.

      “Calm down and talk to me, baby girl,” my mother comforted, stroking my hair. It was a little weird whenever she had these big displays of affection. I was still getting used to our new and building relationship. Sometimes my mother overcompensated because of her guilt from the past, but this was one time I was appreciative of her efforts.

      I blew out a windstorm of breath and eased the tension in my neck and shoulders. I turned slightly so I was facing my mother. I guess I wanted her to see the distress in my eyes. I guess I wanted her to know I needed her, but was too set in my ways to ask for her comfort.

      “Okay, how can I explain it so that you understand how bad it is?” I asked the question, but wasn’t expecting an answer.

      “The best way to say it is, my boss, Christian, is a bitch. That’s first,” I spat with a bit more venom than my mother was probably used to hearing from one of her kids.

      “Watch your language,” she said immediately. Then she softened a bit. “Go ahead, I give you a pass because you seem very stressed-out.”

      I shook my head a little. This lady forgets I am grown. I am twenty-seven years old and can cuss whenever I like. I didn’t say that, though. Once a mother, always a mother.

      “Anyway, Christian, the Devil in disguise, has loaded me down with the task of getting a breaking-news story that will blow our ratings through the roof. She wants some exclusive that no other station in the area or in the nation, for that matter, will have first. She has made it clear that it is the only way I will ever accomplish my dream of becoming an on-air prime time news anchor. She even threatened my current job, which, you know, with all of these student loans from grad school, I cannot afford to lose,” I relayed to my mother with tinges of angst underlying my words. Honestly, saying it all made me feel like someone had lifted a one-thousand-pound weight from my chest. I let out another long breath and felt slightly better. I guess my mother was right about how beneficial speaking to her about my problem was for me.

      “Hmm, what kind of story does she want?” my mother asked, rubbing her chin as if she could help me. “I mean, news is news, right? You can only report on whatever you know to be happening. Sounds like she is expecting a miracle in this little area,” my mother continued.

      “She didn’t say exactly what type of story, which is another thing all together. She just wants something so hot it will make the whole world want to know and watch our news station. My entire life and livelihood are hinging on me bringing in something that would blow her socks off. As if I could just come up with something off the top of my head like a damn fairy godmother or something,” I said. I was so disgusted by Christian’s never-satisfied ass. I could’ve just screamed and pulled all of my edges out by hand.

      Just then, Kyle started fumbling with the locks to get into the house. My mother and I both turned our attention to the door as he used his key to come in. After he closed the door behind himself, he bopped toward us with the street swagger that he swore made him so manly. He was funny. I smirked because as hard as Kyle played, I knew he was a loving brother. We looked like the male and female version of one another, but we were vastly different in most ways.

      Where I had always been strongly independent, Kyle was more needy and dependent. He was still living with my mother at our age. Sometimes it annoyed me, especially when I had to pay my bills at my place. I would sometimes be left with fifty bucks to get me through until the next paycheck, while I knew Kyle was here mooching and living for free. Every dime of his money was his to spend, which was why he could afford a fancy car and lots of high-end clothes. Yeah, it sometimes annoyed me to know he was living the good life, with no real worries, but other times I felt better that if I couldn’t really look out for him, because I was off on my own, then him being here with my mother meant that she could.

      “Aye, twin,” Kyle sang, in the smooth, street way he spoke. His hazel-colored, cat-shaped eyes were low, so I knew he had just blazed some weed. That was another habit he’d picked up as we grew up—smoking weed. My mother got up right away. She hated to see Kyle after he was drinking or getting high off weed. I guess it was kind of a trigger for her. She said she would go make me some food and left the room with quickness. It was odd to witness her scurrying away like that, but I was too busy greeting my brother to think too much of it.

      “Hey, twin,” I replied, standing up to give him a hug. Sure enough, Kyle smelled like he’d just burned an entire field of marijuana plants around him. I didn’t scold him this time. I was glad to see him. My brother and I were closer than close. He was my other half, even when I had boyfriends. Nobody really came in between my brother and me. I’d dropped many dudes over conflicts with Kyle. If they couldn’t accept my close relationship with my twin brother, then they couldn’t accept me or be with me. Kyle and I were bonded from the womb, and that was no exaggeration. When Kyle was sick, I was sick, and vice versa.

      The only thing opposite about us was the path we took in life. I chose to go to school and go “the lame route” (as Kyle called it), and he chose to go the street route and be in the mix, like both of our parents were in their heyday. Kyle was into a little bit of everything