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MOM ROSE THE NEXT MORNING as wrathful as when she went to bed. She clomped and stomped around the kitchen, slamming cupboards and drawers, making sure the whole world knew it.
“I’m tryna sleep!” Selena shouted from the inside of her room.
I couldn’t sleep either with the constant noise, and a dull ache simmered behind my eyes. Closing them again, I slipped on my slippers and felt my way to the bedroom door when Mom stubbed her toe into the table leg. I pried my eyes open at the sound of her howls and glanced up the hall at the overturned chair.
Selena stormed past me into the kitchen to confront her.
“What part of I’m tryna sleep don’t you get?”
“I didn’t stub my toe on purpose,” Mom whined.
In a huff, Selena hustled back to her room again.
The weather woman’s jolly predictions for a sunny spring day whispered in the background as I soaped my face with a cleanser.
“Joy, come get the door,” Mom hollered.
“Fai!” Selena yelled again.
I washed the suds away quickly. Water splashed onto the sink and floor and soaked the oversized sleeves of my night shirt. I could hear Mom’s thoughts when Giovanni knocked gently, a second time. I hurried down the hall on tippy-toes, drying my face on the hand towel I’d brought with me.
Mom was such a jerk. She could have easily let Giovanni in herself. She was sitting a foot from the door, doing nothing but drinking coffee.
I rolled my eyes at the sight of her, silently hoping she’d scald her tongue. Sipping from her mug, she rolled her eyes back at me.
Giovanni greeted Mom. Even though she replied to him, her poisoned tone revealed it all. Thankfully, he was too oblivious to notice. For his sake, I bit my tongue and led him away before she succeeded in souring his good mood.
Once out of view from her, I squeezed him tightly, inciting a chuckle.
“Shh.” I covered his mouth gently with my hand.
With wide eyes and palms skyward, he questioned me without words, but it was hopeless to explain the cause of my odd reaction with hand signals.
How could I make him understand that our happiness made my mom miserable, that she was waiting for any excuse to force us apart?
I let down my hair and scrunched my curls while he watched me from the doorway with increasing admiration.
“I’ll be ready in a minute,” I said, getting overwhelmed by his unyielding attention.
“Can I help you with your hair?”
The sincerity of his question held me back from looking at him like he’d lost his mind. Smiling at the dollop of conditioning cream in my hands, I said, “If I did that, it would take more than a minute.”
“But my ma made you breakfast.” He dangled the cupcake-sized box before my eyes. “I will give it to you if you let me touch your hair.”
I closed the distance between us and granted his request before applying the first round of conditioner.
“What did she make me?”
Giovanni opened the box to see for himself and frowned. “She never makes this for me,” he said, angling the box within my view.
The two little cupcakes with piped white icing, crushed pecans, and a cherry on top made my mouth water. I scrunched my hair quickly and led him to the kitchen to indulge with me in the sugary delight at once.
I stuffed my face, ignoring Mom’s fierce side-eye. When she ducked behind the refrigerator door to peruse the fridge for a bite to eat, Giovanni got the crazy idea to steal a kiss, nearly sending us both to an early grave.
I shoved the last bite of the cupcake into my mouth just as Mom popped her head up over the door and glared at us with suspicion.
Tossing the box in the trash, I returned to my room with Giovanni hot on my heels.
“Why’d you come so early?”
He stopped me from reaching my closet and turned me to him. “I could not wait to see you.” He held my face and moved in to kiss me. Before our lips connected, the floorboard creaked in the hall. Fear washed over me. I moved out of his reach and watched Mom pause to glower at me en route to her room.
Facing Giovanni again, I stole the kiss waiting for me on his lips.
“I have to get ready. I won’t be long,” I said, nudging him toward the door.
FLASHES OF US MAKING out in the elevator skipped through my mind as it transported us to the ground floor. Giovanni tucked my hair behind my ear, returning me to reality.
“What is wrong?” he asked, rushing me outside for privacy from a man pacing the lobby.
We stepped onto the sidewalk.
“I...had a bad night, and I woke up with a headache,” I said.
“What happened last night?”
“I couldn’t sleep.”
Making me stop alongside him, he tilted my chin, compelling my eyes to meet his. “Why did you not call me if you could not sleep?” His minty breath stroked my cheek.
“I didn’t think of it.”
“Next time, call me,” he said, nuzzling my neck.
A warm cuddle from him was exactly what I needed.
“Giovanni,” I sang. “My mom can see us.”
He pulled away with a smile reaching his eyes and searched for Selena’s window. “Ha. You were right.” He waved enthusiastically until I hurried him along.
“How did you know she is watching us?”
“I always know,” I said, wondering how long it would take to save enough money to escape her.
THE CLOSER WE GOT TO school, the more the idea of being served up as the main course to the gossip monsters made me reconsider everything. I stole my hand from Giovanni’s, letting it hang idly by my side without a thought of how he would take it.
“Do not change your mind. I like the way we are.” He reclaimed my hand and fortified his grasp in case I got cold feet again.
“I’m not ready for everyone to know about us yet.”
“You are embarrassed to be with me?” he asked, already wounded by the idea.
“Of course, not! You forget this whole thing is new to me. I never had a real boyfriend before, and I hate it when people stare. I don’t know how to act anymore.”
“Look at me, and you will not see them. We have only lunch and English together anyway.”
It was hard enough to pretend I was comfortable in my skin. Now, I had to walk beside Giovanni and not over-think how we were perceived from the outside? Self-doubt crept in like it always did—at the worst possible time.
We reached the edge of the hallway and maneuvered around clusters of people to get to our lockers.
“Hi, Giovanni.” Mariah tossed her long hair behind her back.
Still beaming with pride, Giovanni boldly refused to acknowledge her. He glanced my way with a reassuring smile and a wink, totally oblivious to the dangers lurking nearby.
“I thought you said you were just friends.” Mariah marched in step with us.
“We were, but not anymore,” Giovanni informed her.
As she peeked around Giovanni’s slender frame, her sharp brown eyes dissected me with morbid pleasure.
I glared back until Giovanni stopped me in my tracks, tilted my chin, and caught me off guard with a kiss.
Mariah stormed away, taking her evil energy with her.
I reclaimed my lips from Giovanni. “I hate kissing in front of people,” I whispered, wiping my sweaty palms onto my pants.
He grinned sheepishly. “I forgot...but it worked.” He scanned the hallway for any sight of his number one fan. Mariah had gone.
IN THE MIDDLE OF GYM warm-ups, a girl at the front of the class caught my eye to point my attention to the door. Giovanni mimed his best cheerleader impression, complete with high kicks and a team spirit smile on his face. He was good entertainment for those of the class who noticed. I slipped out covertly and met him in the hall by the girl’s bathroom entrance.
“What are you doing, crazy?”
He encircled me in his arms and said, “I wanted to see you.”
“We’re gonna get caught.”
“I don’t care,” he said, clearing the hair hanging in my face to make way for his lips.
Ms. Lane yelling at the class scared me away from him.
“I need to get back.”
“No. Not yet,” he whined.
“Joy Luminieè, please come to the main office. Joy Luminineè to the main office,” a voice summoned me over the loudspeaker.
I pulled away from him and looked around for the cameras, probably recording every second of our stolen moment. Giovanni caught onto my paranoia and choked on his overconfidence of not getting caught. He looked uncertainly at the ceiling expecting to hear his own name follow mine. He never did.
As we parted ways, I braced myself for whatever punishment awaited me behind the office door.
Mom stood at the counter, her eyes and nose red from crying. She gave me a long, desperate hug, confirming the ominous nature of the news weighing on her.
“Mom, what happened?”
Evading my eyes altogether, she sighed shakily. “Go get your things. We’re leaving.”
I sent Giovanni a short message and obediently reunited with her afterward.
“YOUR DAD KILLED STORM. I got a call this morning,” she said once we passed the main entrance and entered the vestibule. “He got arrested for a stabbing last night. The cops matched his fingerprints to the ones they found at our place. They said there were two intruders that day—him and some other guy, based on the shoe print they found. It was a size sixteen. Your dad wears eleven. So far, they’ve got no clue who the other guy was, but...it looks like your dad’s gonna end up doin’ time.”
With a sorrowful sigh, she trained her misty sights on me, expecting me to break down right then and there like I was positive she would’ve liked to see me do since it reflected her own true desire. But I knew Dad was guilty all along.
“How are you?” she asked.
“I’m glad he’s off the street. It sucks someone else had to get hurt before it happened.” She bobbed her in agreement. “But I don’t wanna leave.”
Stiffening her upper lip, she blinked at me.
“Well, if you’re not upset about it...I’ll...I guess I’ll see ya later. Maybe we can do something tonight.” She swiped at her nose with a disintegrating tissue. “We haven’t done anything in a while...just the two of us.”
I watched her in wonder.
She wanted to spend quality time...with me? That was a first.
“Uh, okay. But are you sure you’re gonna be alright?”
“Yeah. I didn’t know how you’d take the news. I’m...I’ll be fine,” she amended. “I’m gonna go home and take a hot bath or somethin’.”
She hugged me quickly and proceeded to leave when a fat tear glided out from the corner of her eye, not before escaping my notice.
“Go back to class,” she urged when I repeated my question to her. “I’m fine.”
Her dumb philosophy of suppressing her emotions couldn’t hold up under the strain of reality, not indefinitely. How could it? Emotions break everyone...sooner or later, and it was happening before my eyes.
INSTEAD OF RETURNING to class, I wandered into the nearest bathroom to absorb Mom’s news away from probing eyeballs.
A surging rage shot through my body. I glared at my reflection with angry tears soaking my face while his eyes watched on. I could never understand how Giovanni could peer into them and see beauty when they belonged to Dad.
Gripping the edge of the sink, I tore his eyes away from the mirror, my tears steadily streaming down the drain as flashes of my mother begging for her life pervaded my mind. Visions of my nightmares of him fighting Storm with the latest addition of an accomplice...
Holding my face in my hands, I begged my brain to stop as new and old images played on.
In the middle of my nervous breakdown, a pair of feet shuffled in the hall, closing in on my location. I splashed water onto my face and scrubbed vigorously to melt away the mess of streaky mascara under my eyes. The potential intruder bypassed the bathroom. Taking a breath, I patted my skin dry and reapplied my eye makeup, hoping if I looked a little better, I could Band-Aid the fractures in my soul. No Band-Aid could stop the pain, though. Only one person held the power to make me feel a little better. I craved the comfort only Giovanni could bring me.
ONE BY ONE, I WATCHED the raindrops fall and slide down the window pane before me. But not even counting the rain could keep the hurricane of emotions destroying my insides from violently breaking out. I had to write. It was all I had left without him.
Giovanni claimed his place at my side amid my writing therapy session.
“Are you feeling okay?”
I exhaled a slow breath and shook my head. Wrapping his arm around me, he drew me in close and pressed a kiss to my head. “I got your text. I thought you were leaving,” he spoke softly in my ear.
“I was going to, but I wanted to be with you.”
He rocked me in his embrace. “Bella.”
“Hmm?”
“What language is that?” Studying my scribbles in my notebook, he narrowed his eyes at it with suspicion. “Is that Chinese?”
I separated from him and slipped the notebook into my bag. “No! It’s something I made up.” I waited for him to make fun of me for it.
“Why?”
“Because when I write my thoughts down during class, teachers always wanna read it out loud. This way, they stay secret.”
“I do not believe you,” he said, poking at me playfully. “I think you are writing secret messages to your other boyfriend?”
I smiled at the thought and leaned my head on his shoulder. “Nope. My other boyfriend can’t read it either.
A dark chuckle echoed through him.
COLD, DRIZZLY RAIN peppered us with each step on our stroll after the bus dropped us off. I didn’t mind. I needed the cold to numb me from the crushing weight of the pain in my chest. I tried not to buckle under it. I tried, but I couldn’t shake it.
I followed Giovanni in a daze to the glass door of a florist shop. He went in, and I waited outside under the red awning. The bleakness of the day matched my mood too well for me to abandon it then.
“Are you Joy, Sam’s kid?”
My heart froze solid at the scruffy, white man’s reference to my dad.
Was this Dad’s accomplice? Had he come to finish the job?
He was a short, blond-haired man with lazy blue eyes and crusty lips. Gnarly nose hairs hung low and proud from his broad, dented nose. A graying, bristly beard covered his pockmarked face.
I shook my head and diverted my sights to his shoes, trying to determine the size, but it was hopeless. I had no clue how to tell without a closer examination.
“That’s interesting, ‘cause his kid goes to school where you go.” Holding a picture up to me, he smiled, although it looked closer to a grimace, revealing perfectly straight teeth. “You look a lot like her.”
“Well, I’m not. Now leave me alone before I scream.”
Every time he neared me, I retreated three steps backward.
“Don’t come any closer,” I commanded.
His smile slipped. “Quit playin’ games. Your dad...”
My piercing scream drowned out the rest of his words and he rushed to silence me. Without a thought, I struck him. His paunchy gut absorbed my elbow. He stumbled back and came after me again, more determined than before.
“FIRE! Don’t touch me. I don’t know you! FIRE!” I hollered, running away from him.
Giovanni’s voice overlapped mine with Italian curses. “Get away from her!” he screamed, his voice reaching a pitch I never knew it could.
The stranger fled around the corner with Giovanni and the florist in pursuit. I clung to the edge of the doorframe of the flower shop, watching them, a million questions swirling in my brain.
“Are you hurt? D-Did he touch you?” Giovanni growled between breaths. He pulled me in his arms, his body trembling against mine until his hold turned painful.
I couldn’t breathe. I twisted and writhed in his grasp. “Don’t hold me like that!” I said.
He released me with a blank look on his face and tugged the hair at his temple. “Who was he?” Giovanni asked, striving to regain his calm.
“I don’t know.” I swallowed, trying to soothe the pain in my throat after screaming. “He started talking to me. I’ve never seen him before.”
“Do you want me to call the cops?” the florist interjected, his tanned face and black hair glistening with sweat.
Mom’s warning flashed like a neon sign in my brain. Rejecting her ideologies and replacing them with Giovanni was my passive-aggressive way of rebelling against her, which was why filing a report with the police was the last thing I wanted to do. And I would’ve never heard the end of it if she found out.
“No, thank you,” I said, holding my aching stomach.
Crunching his unibrow to his nose, he said, “You could’ve gotten kidnapped. Did you get a good look at the guy? He shouldn’t be free to attack people like that.”
Giovanni held my hand and squeezed it reassuringly. A bead of sweat slid down the side of his face. “He is right.”
“I don’t feel like dealing with them.” My shoulders sagged at the thought.
Leading us inside his shop, the florist said, “I’d feel better if they came anyway.”
A blend of aromas greeted us when we entered the humid space—fresh eucalyptus, roses, and gardenias. Hanging plants overflowed their pots like fireworks exploding with random displays of color toward the back of the room. A narrow counter with a glass top and three binders of floral inspiration lay opened.
Giovanni crooked his arm around me possessively. “What did that man want?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t wait to find out...He knew my name,” I blurted out. “And where I go to school. He told me my dad’s name, but it didn’t seem like he really knew him. He called him Sam. No one calls him that.”
“Here, girl. Take a seat.” The florist carted a stool to the counter in front of the register.
With the man’s face fresh in my mind, I wrote the details about him in my sketchbook. On the back, I recounted the entire incident, finding the words much easier in written form than spoken.
By the time the cops strutted inside the shop, I’d managed to get as far as completing the deadpan look of his eyes.
Flipping the sketch over, I tore out the page with the man’s description and handed it off to the more seasoned of the two officers. The shorter cop snorted his amusement at me, so I ignored his existence altogether.
“I can finish it when I get home and email it to you tonight if you want.”
After ten more minutes of repeating everything I had already written down, I stood to leave in a huff.
“We ain’t done with you yet,” the rookie said.
I paused to glare at him. “Ya’ know what? I don’t even care whether you do your job or not. I’m goin’ home.”
His partner nodded with a curious stare, popped a gum into his mouth, and handed me his card. “Give us a call if you think of anything else.” He dragged his annoying little partner out the door to hunt down surveillance cameras around the neighborhood.
Giovanni squeezed my shoulders and leveled his gaze with mine. “I will not leave you alone again. I promise.”
The florist interrupted Giovanni with a generous offer—to finish Giovanni’s floral selection at a discount to add a little sunshine to our day. Giovanni forced a smile in response, but his heart and mind were stuck on me.
“That wasn’t your first encounter with a freak like that, was it?” the florist asked me. He gathered various stems from three different rows of the white buckets that lined the tall shelves.
I shook my head. “The only other one I dealt with was too big for me to fight. But he can’t hurt anyone now,” I said, remembering our former neighbor at The Glen, who outweighed me by two hundred pounds.
I settled onto the stool and rested my head across my folded arms on the counter. The adrenaline crash made my brain too sluggish to speak or think anymore.
“Well, it’s a good thing you stopped in here before you made it home; otherwise, that creeper would’ve found out where ya live,” the florist said, handing me a sunflower.
I cracked a smile. “Thank you.”
“Joy, come. I will take you home,” Giovanni said, helping me up from the stool. He guided me outside with a protective arm around my shoulder.
“Giovanni? Would you mind if we went to Lucy’s first? I haven’t been to Storm’s grave since—”
“Of course.” Taking hold of my hand, he kissed the back of it.
“HEY, GUYS. OOH. PRETTY Sunflower,” Selena said as we stepped through the door.
“You can have it.” I put the stem into her hand and moseyed toward my room with Giovanni in tow.
“Why y’all look so down? Was it a rough day?”
“Every day’s a rough day,” I mumbled to her. I pitched my bag and jacket inside of the closet and ambled to my room.
Giovanni hugged me from behind and nestled his chin onto my shoulder. “I am worried about you, bella. Tell me what happened at school. What happened at the office?”
I sighed and pulled myself free. “My dad got arrested last night for stabbing someone.” Growing restless, I peeked out the window, half expecting to spot that strange man on the street below.
“Is that why you are sad?”
“About that? Are you kidding me? He killed my dog last week, remember? I hate him!”
Giovanni’s wary stare brought to my attention how awkward our conversation must’ve been for him. The complexity of the anger I harbored toward the man half-responsible for my birth was beyond his scope of understanding. Not even I understood it most days. How could I explain it to him?
“Do you think that man wanted to hurt you?”
“Why else would he have my picture and insinuate he knew who I was? He was trying to scare me.”
Selena appeared in the doorway.
“Hey. I heard about your dad. How’re you doin’?”
“I don’t care about him. You know that,” I muttered, giving her a hard look.
“I wish your mom could say the same. Are you sure everything’s okay? You don’t look so good.”
I let Selena in on what had happened under strict instruction that she mustn’t tell Mom about it, at least not until she calmed down about my dad first.
Selena chewed her bottom lip. “And he knew your dad? Your dad who just stabbed someone?”
I nodded.
“Uh-uh. You sharpen a piece of plastic, a stick, anythin’, and you keep it close in case somethin’ like that happens again. I wanna know if anyone comes at you again, alright?” Selena looked to the ceiling. “Yeah. Your mom don’t need to hear about this now. I’m so worried about her, Joy. I keep trying to think up creative ways to make her get a brain scan or talk to someone. She was doing so good...before your dad messed everything up. Oh, and I hate to break it to ya, but this little dating thing with you two ain’t helping. I ain’t never seen her so pissed.”
“I know. She didn’t hide it this morning either.”
“You do know what’s behind it, don’t ya?” I shook my head for her to continue. “She feels like she’s losin’ you.”
I held back from giving her the memo: Mom had lost me nearly a decade ago. If that was her real concern, she would’ve noticed it when it had actually happened. The last thing I needed, though, was for Selena to try to stage an annoying family intervention. Her intentions were always in the right place. But Mom would’ve sabotaged it, and I could’ve done without the extra stress.
“So, Giovanni, it might be a good thing if you’re not here when Faith gets home.”
He nodded stiffly.
I enclosed us in the room after Selena retreated to the kitchen.
“Why did you not tell me about your mother? Why is she not happy for us?” he asked, hurt that I’d kept it a secret.
I shrugged timidly. “She thinks we’re too young and hormonal. I shouldn’t have told her so much. I knew she’d be surprised, but I didn’t expect her to be such a jerk about it. Though I don’t know why.”
“It will get better.”
“I cannot wait for this day to be over, but I wish you could stay,” I said, falling into him.
MOM’S DEPRESSIVE MOOD took center stage throughout dinner with every word from her mouth either an angry demand, a harsh reply, or whiny complaint.
“This chicken is dry. You overcooked it,” Mom directed at me. She took a long sip of water and dramatically stabbed at the coconut chicken curry before her. “I can’t eat this!”
Selena glowered at Mom from across the table and dropped her fork onto her plate with a clank. “Fai, I love you, but you are really working my last nerve. There ain’t nothing wrong with the chicken, and your little attitude problem has been getting on my nerves since this morning. Quit pickin’ on Joy ‘cause you’re upset about Sammy and Giovanni and whatever else has got you down.” Selena leaned forward. “If you need to take a walk, go. But make sure you leave it outside before you come back in here.”
Mom blinked at her for a minute and stared at the little bit of food left on her plate. For someone repulsed by my dry chicken, she sure ate a lot of it.
“I wasn’t pickin’ on her. She talks about wanting to cook for a living...well, her food’s gotta be impeccable.”
I drank some water and watched them.
“Girl, you’re reachin’, and you know it,” Selena countered. “She’s not entering a cooking competition anytime soon, so who’s she gotta impress?”
I took a second sip and sat back.
“And another thing,” Selena said. “This whole Sammy thing needs to stop. He hurt someone. Who knows if that person survived or not? That could’ve been you. It used to be you,” she continued. “All that matters now is that you let him go. If you can’t do it for you, do it for your daughter.”
Mom slumped in her seat with a quaking chin and misty eyes. Thankfully, a tap at the door disrupted the show. I scrambled out of my chair to get to the door and peered through the peephole.
A young Asian guy with a Knicks’ ball cap raised his fist to knock another time.
“Who is it?” I asked, watching him.
“I’ve got three deliveries from Giovanni Vitali.”
I flung the door open, grinning from ear to ear. After signing the guy’s tablet, I exchanged it for the bouquets.
The cellophane crinkled in my embrace while Mom and Selena crowded me.
“Can you guys move?” I hollered at them, nudging one with my elbow and the other with my hip to get the door closed.
Giovanni’s timing could not have been any better. He had gone above and beyond, including cards with personal messages to each one of us. My only wish was that he would’ve given mine to me in person.
Mom and Selena were all smiles and delight once I handed them their lovely surprises.
Mom’s modest bouquet of peach and bright pink Gerbera daisies raised her low spirit out of the gutter in a flash, a sight I hadn’t seen in too long. The card helped.
It was not my intention to upset you about Joy and me. I understand that you and I are strangers still, but I hope you will give me the chance to show you who I am. I care for Joy very much and she cares for me. It is my greatest hope to continue to make her as happy as she makes me.
P.S. The florist helped me to select the flowers for you. They are called Gerbera Daisies. I hope they make you happy.
Selena’s was of the same flower variety but with orange daisies coupled with reddish-purple ones. Since she kept the contents of Giovanni’s message a secret from us, I busied myself with my own card and flowers.
I buried my face in the pale green, coral, and scarlet-colored roses when a whiff of his citrusy cologne drifted up to my nostrils. A mist of it had blessed the card. Pressing it to my face, I got drunk off his scent before I remembered there were words on it too.
I am happy to know you, bella. I wanted to deliver these to you tonight with a hug and a lot of kisses, but I am a little afraid of your mamma.
P.S. The green roses mean new beginnings and cheerfulness. The red means love. And the orange ones represent desire. I hope they make you smile. I will see you in my dreams. Buonanotte, la mia bellisima Gioia.
“What does yours say?” Mom inquired impatiently.
I handed the card to her and inhaled my delicious bouquet again.
Upon returning it to me, she demanded I call him.
“Why?”
“I wanna talk to him,” she said with a severe poker face.
After his sweet gesture, I hoped her previous assessment had softened toward him.
“Did you get the flowers?” his voice bellowed out on speakerphone.
“Yes. I love them,” Mom replied.
“Did your mom and Selena like their flowers?”
Mom cracked a smile. “Giovanni, this is Joy’s mom.”
“Oh. Hi!”
“Hey. Listen, I wanted to see if you wanted to come over for dinner tomorrow night.”
After a moment’s pause, he gave his emphatic answer.
“Thank you for the flowers. They’re stunning.”
“It was my pleasure.”
Once Mom said her goodbyes, Selena sang her thanks to him in perfect pitch, yielding the usual compliments.
I brought my phone with me to my room.
“Giovanni, it’s Joy.”
“How can I know this is Joy? You sound the same as your mamma.”
“Well, my mom didn’t spend half of yesterday with you with her face painted like a cat, now did she?” I whispered.
“Okay. I believe you. Your mamma wants me to come to dinner tomorrow.”
“I know. I‒I wanted to tell you how much I love the flowers and the note you sent. No one’s ever given me flowers, except for after my dance competitions. I can’t stop smelling them. Thank you.”
“I hate to see you unhappy.”
I sighed. “Is there anything you would like? I mean, what would make you happy?”
“To kiss you.”
“I was talking about other things.”
“I do not want things. I only want to be with you, to have fun with you again.”
“Okay. I’ll plan something special,” I said, smiling at the thought.
I wandered back to the kitchen to finish eating and found Mom at the counter, prepping dinner a day early.
“He is a sweet boy,” she said out of nowhere.
“His parents are too.”
“He must think I’m a witch.” She hacked into a cut of pork shoulder.
“I don’t think so. I told him you’re about to start your period. I’m pretty sure he didn’t understand, but he pretended like he did.”
Mom turned to me with her jaw unhinged.
“I’m kidding...It would’ve been funny though.”
I shoveled the last two bites of food into my mouth in one go to avoid talking about Dad—her favorite subject.
“Do you agree with what Selena said earlier ‘bout your dad and me letting him go?”
My shoulders fell. “Yes!”I said with my mouth full.
“Don’t you remember anything about how he used to be?”
“It doesn’t matter how he used to be. He’s not the same person. That version of Dad has been gone way too long. I want you to be happy, and you’re not. You’ll never be happy until you really let him go. Even if he quit doin’ drugs, he can’t take away everything he’s done to us. I guess as long as he’s high, he can at least forget. But it still doesn’t change a thing.”
Clutching the knife tighter, she lowered her chin and sighed through her episode. I swallowed away the rage-filled tears threatening to overtake me. I was sick to death of those residual emotions, even though holding it all in made it far worse, regardless of what my mom preached.
I scraped the leftover bits of cilantro rice and curry sauce off my plate and into the trash when Mom hugged me firmly, scaring the crap out of me. To someone on the outside looking in, I could have been her hostage with her sharp knife six inches from my throat.
“I‒I’m sorry,” she said hoarsely.
Slowly withdrawing her arms from around me, she set the knife on the cutting board and disappeared down the hall to mourn her former lover in private.
I took her place at the counter, prepping the meats she’d picked up from the grocer’s. Selena believed for years that Mom had brain damage. Memory loss was one symptom of it. Still, I wondered if it was her choice to forget the abuse or if her unconditional love for Dad had the power to suppress the abuse so much, she could pretend none of it ever happened.
Was it good or bad her being unconscious for some of it, oblivious to the violence until she woke to the bruises, swelling, and fractures?
Could that be why she would dig up only the good? Maybe those happy memories served some beneficial purpose after all. Though it was daunting to imagine her being potentially worse without them.
Or was her illogical reasoning about the man, without a doubt, a part of the ill effects of brain damage? Where did her love for him end and the brokenness begin? Or was her mind a patchwork quilt—the damage co-existing harmoniously with love?
I’d heard the saying love is blind. But how many beatings would it take to drop the blinders from one’s eyes and see the way things truly are? And how could a man look into the battered face of the woman he claimed to love and not feel self-loathing and regret or discover motivation to get professional help. How could he not feel remorse for even dreaming about luring that sorry woman back into his web of lies and destruction?
It didn’t matter anymore. The past was the past, but no one could live there. We still had a future ahead of us we could forge without him. I was more determined than ever to help my mom accept that encouraging truth.