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with how I do things then you do the fucking shit.” She slammed the door behind her.
    I took a deep breath, grabbed the gloves, wipes, and extra diaper, and turned to Daddy. “Shit,” I mumbled. Since the shit had obviously been on Daddy for a while, it was smeared all over his butt, boxers, and pants.
    â€œOkay, Daddy, I’m gonna get you all cleaned up.”
    I strained to lift the plastic pad underneath him, to not soil the bed. “Just give me a second and you’ll be all clean. I’ll even put some of your favorite cologne on you.”
    I wiped him down with the damp towels, wiping around his penis and testicles, then his ass. Then I tossed the soiled wipes on the floor, hoping Mama would step on them, so she knew what it felt like to have shit on her.
    Even if Daddy was paralyzed, that didn’t give her the right to fucking neglect him. Damn, I wished I could be like Desiree sometimes and speak exactly what’s on my mind.
    Once I had him squeaky-clean, I struggled with his legs, pulling some clean boxers and pajama pants on him. I sprayed some of his cologne on him, like I’d promised. I then greased his scalp, and brushed his hair like he liked it, until his pretty hair waved up.
    After I went back into the kitchen to cook the other meats, Mama made another appearance. She slipped behind me and hugged me, but I pulled away from her and kept my focus on the meat sizzling in the pan.
    â€œDon’t be mad at me. I just have a lot of shit on my mind, Cashmere. Baby, I’m so tired of being cooped up in this damn house. I can’t go nowhere, do shit, but care for Desmond. He won’t move, won’t say shit—”
    â€œâ€™Cause he can’t.”
    â€œI know. But on a woman it’s hard.”
    â€œIt’s hard on all of us.”
    Mama wrapped her arms around me and had her head on my shoulders. As she talked, I felt the vibrations of her voice on my skin. “I got to worry about bills and shit,” she said. “It’s a lot you don’t know, and a whole lot you don’t understand.”
    I finally turned and noticed she had on another one of her getups.
    I shook my head and asked dryly, “Going out?”
    She gave a nervous laugh. “Baby, I just wanna go get a drink. That’s it, Cashmere . . . dance a couple of songs.” She swayed and snapped her fingers. “Ease a little tension out. Then I’m gonna come back home and be a rejuvenated woman. I’ll clean, cook those bomb-ass meals I used to make, and take good care of Daddy. I promise, boo. Just give me tonight.”
    I stared at her for a long time then turned back to the bacon in the frying pan in front of me. My tone was acidy. “Do what you gotta do, Mama.”
    She squealed, “Thank you, baby.” Then she gave me a quick peck and dashed out of the house.
    I wondered if she knew that Desiree had been gone for the past two days.

Chapter 6
    Man was Christmas a fucked-up day. We opened our gifts in silence, like they didn’t mean shit, when they had such a value on them. And, boy, was it some really nice stuff.
    Daddy truly was the sweetest. He bought me a portable DVD player, an iPod, a new pair of Jordan’s, and a Roca Wear sweatsuit. He got Desiree a camera cell phone to replace the one her dumb ass lost, portable Nintendo DS, ’cause even though her ass was almost grown, she was a big-ass kid, and some shoes like mine, with a matching sweatsuit.
    He bought Mama a bad-ass Michael Kors bag, a flat-screen TV, and a beautiful tennis bracelet, but she didn’t even bother to open up her gifts. We did it for her. She just sat on the couch with this far-off expression in her eyes and sipped on her wine. I knew exactly how she felt . . . well, minus the guilt.
    The gifts were really nice, but they didn’t really bring joy or excitement out of us. The gifts represented all the hours of overtime, and sleep Daddy had sacrificed