Kiss the Ring by Meesha Mink

desperation, and a complete lack of food stamps. A carton of milk she knew was sour as Coko’s breath and an old takeout container of fried chicken and fries she had last week were lonely as hell on them empty shelves.
    She had been spending so much time with MMC—the Make Money Crew—and Vivica that she hadn’t been around to cook. “Or carry my ass to work,” she mumbled, turning to look out the window over the kitchen sink.
    â€œThe fuck is this?” she asked aloud coming closer to the sink to peek through the curtain at Sarge sitting next to a litup grill in the backyard.
    Naeema rushed into the living room to pull on a pair of her old Jordans before heading back through the kitchen and out the back door. She almost forgot half the bricks from one of the bottom steps were gone and had to catch herself before she tripped.
    â€œCareful,” Sarge called over, the summer sun making his silver hair shiny as hell. Or she figured it could be sweat soaking his scalp from being dressed in his army fatigues. Long-sleeved shirt and all. Like his ass was still on duty and ready to salute a general or some shit.
    Just crazy.
    â€œSarge, what you doin’?” she asked, coming to stand beside him.
    She looked down at the pot of beans bubbling away on the mini charcoal grill and pinched the bridge of her nose in irritation.
    â€œI’m cooking,” he said, leaning forward to use the small spoon he held to stir the pot.
    Naeema released a heavy breath. “You can cook in the house, Sarge,” she said, looking over into the backyard of her neighbors to see if they were witness to the fuck shit as well.
    â€œIt was too hot in that basement for the grill today.”
    â€œ Today ? Huh? What?” she asked, making an incredulous face. “No . . . no . . . no. You can cook on the stove in the kitchen.”
    â€œNo,” he said simply, reaching in the pocket of his shirt for a small metal container that he shook over the pot.
    The whole scene reminded her of a photo she’d seen on hotghettomess.com where some fool had an air conditioner duct-taped inside the back window of an old car with a generator rigged to the trunk giving that bitch power.
    Just dumb shit that made no sense.
    When she discovered he was still using a bucket for a toilet even though there was a working bathroom in the basement, that had taken a lot of patience and her putting her foot down for him to stop that shit.
    Fighting not to vomit at the memory, she shook her head and swallowed hard. “Sarge, I let you stay here because I want you here. So please stop trying not to be a burden, because the things you choose to do is more of a burden than if you just . . . like relaxed and enjoyed the little bit of amenities we do have around here like lights and running water. You know?” she asked as she watched him take the pot off the grill and stand up with it in his hand.
    â€œHave some,” he said, with a twinkle in his eyes because he knew damn well she would not.
    â€œNah, I’m good. Thanks.”
    Sarge walked back across the small paved yard and into the house as he whistled some tune. Naeema walked over to grab the hose and turn on the outside faucet it was attached to and doused the charcoal. In the end she was laughing when she walked back into the house as her stomach growled from the scent of the beans lingering in the air.
    With one last look through the fridge and equally empty cupboards, Naeema walked back into the living room and stooped down to pick up the money from beneath the cold radiator. Her brow furrowed as she rose to her full height. She used her thumb to stroke the rubber band holding the money together in a roll.
    Spending it didn’t seem right.
    Dropping the wad back into her handbag, she headed to the bathroom to shower. As she stood under the steaming hot spray of the separate shower stall, she wished the master bath upstairs