by Amarie Avant
As we step outside, Jamie whispers, “Although we have a key reason for intervention, Reese, next time tell her ass exactly why Nook didn’t make it.”
“I will.”
The breeze is crisp in comparison to downtown. And for a while, our trio makes for good company. The food is a flavorful firework bursting in my mouth. Yet the part of me which is satiated once good food hits my belly doesn’t activate. I want Evan! I place my fork down. The selective mutism which has allowed my mother to talk crap about my dad or use me like a bankcard in between husbands has vanished. Nevertheless, how to accomplish my goal of being with Evan without it being blatantly obvious?
“Whadya have to say about the fact that Tony's son is one of LAPDs finest?” The words pop out of my mouth at the same speedy rate as I just thought about them.
My mother sighs. Yes! Even in my inept chatter, I’ve hit a nerve. Jamie’s pat against my thigh beneath the table tells me I’ve done well.
“So, Mom, you haven't put any thought into it?” I cock an eyebrow.
“You're right, Reese. No, I haven't thought about it at all.” She sips wine, as if to persuade me to do the same, to do something else besides goad her. Since my arms fold, Lolita gestures. “Although this is a family matter, why bring him up— period?”
I scoff. “Jamie was thirteen years old, coming over and seeing your scrawny, naked ass crawling all over the floor because you threw the wrong damn prescription meds against the wall. Instead of tossing your psychotropics, you accidently tossed the damn illegal pain meds! Had to tell him something or…”
“You’re lying.”
“Only if you take into account that you blackout and forget things, then yes I’m lying. I’m lying about Jamie seeing you reclining in your own piss because you were too torn up over love to move.”
“Lolita, I am not the subject. You’ve known me for over ten years, and yes, I know what vomit breath smells like thanks to you,” Jamie chimes in. “Why can’t you talk about your child’s father, clearly it’s hurting Reese.”
Damn right, even though this isn’t the conversation I necessarily wanted to have, I thrive off of it.
“Why be so numb to reality, Mom! And his name isn't him. Or deadbeat. Or any other variation of a no-good man. Milo Gianni Benincassa was my father. You loved Milo when shit was good, so... so you loved him–period.”
“Oh yeah? End of discussion?” Lolita shakes her head. “What kinda example of a happily ever after was your father? I'm sure you still recall the cops popping him full of...” Lolita stops.
Imaginary talons are gripping my heart, a heart that should be numb to love, platonic or otherwise. Jamie has to be rubbing my back, he’s near to me but I don’t feel the warmth of his being. I just see his chest against my arm, so by process of elimination, he’s attempting to comfort me.
Lolita’s hand reaches for mine. My hands go into my lap, clasped together. “Reese, baby, I'm sorry. You've been through enough–I-you two are ganging up on me, but baby, I’m fucking sorry. Can we just change the subject?”
Extensive trauma-based counseling is ingrained in my psyche. It was forced upon me when I was twelve. My mother’s mother was alive then, and I can only assume my Grammy was the glue which attempted to hold us together. Grammy tried to move us into her home, she tried to provide a semblance of a normal family. I wasn’t having it. I know it broke her heart, but from the outside looking in, through her eyes, Lolita was crazy.
Grammy didn’t live with the woman 24/7, so she didn’t fully know. Something in me wouldn’t allow Grammy to become Wonder Woman, to save me, no, that would be the end of my mom. Sure as I know, one night in Lolita’s presence, and Grammy would have speed dialed Child Protective Services. Grammy would’ve petitioned for custody. I already lost Milo, and as much as I loved Grammy, there was no way I’d lose my mother too.
Though Grammy died a few years later, I fulfilled my end of the bargain by attending the trauma-based therapy. I said nothing during all of it, I recall every second. I recall the therapy as clear as day as I recall the powerless feeling of being propelled backwards in Milo’s lifeless arms. His arms, which once used to be my safe haven from bad dreams when creepy crawlers slithered into my mind, were lifelessly holding me. By now I've climbed into my preverbal shell, with nothing to say.
“Look, the two of you are here because I married Tony. Tony’s son is a cop. I'm sure Evan is a good cop.” Lolita shrugs.
“This isn't really about Evan.” I shake my head flustered. Why did I just say that so quickly! His arms are the safe haven my fathers used to be. Though he’s a different type of hero.
“We're all family now–”
“Yes! You're like a daughter to me now, Reese.” Tony steps onto the veranda. He smiles, none the wiser. There are shiny, paper bags of Dolce and Gabbana in his hands. “I didn't mean to intervene. Just came home, and heard you all chatting.”
He reaches over to give me a hug, and politely greets Jamie with a firm handshake. I stare at my mother.
Lolita pats my face. “Yes, we're all family,” she says.
Yeah, right. I doubt it. Tony could never know our family secrets. Evan too. Because before there were rich old geezers, and my ability to help her out in between time, there was Milo’s hidden stack of cash. He died making sure we were set for life. I glare at mom. If she weren't dipped in name-brand from head to toe, there would have never been her coming to me for money. She'd still have a heck of a lot of dough!
I guess this day is a bust. The only thing that went right? Not being chewed out by Jamie. He still doesn’t know that I am in the wrong too, for sleeping with the damn cop.
“When I came to visit you, right after you were sixteen,” Jamie says out of the blue about two hours later as I navigate onto the freeway onramp, “I remember, your mom had just married the… the plastic surgeon, those tatas of hers which were already perfect, became impeccable. I was a little gay kid, from the hood, driving a rattrap. God only knows the price of gas is the reason we got to see each other. And I was always wondering why my rich friend who I wanted to hang out with every second, who we talked until we fell asleep on the phone, or we argued about One Tree Hill, decided to get a job.”
I smile recalling my very first paying job. Jamie already knows that living with my mother in-between nurses was like working for In Home Supportive Services without the paper persuasion. “Yeah, I worked at the sunglass boutique at Venice Beach. It was an enjoyable occupation, Jamie.”
“Bullshit.” Jamie rolls his eyes over toward me. “Okay, I’ll give you the scenery while on the job. Hot guys in speedos or bohemian lovers.”
“We weren’t into guys in speedos in our teens, Jamie. Only guys in speedos back then had more hair in their ears than down below. But guys in beanies still make us sigh,” I joke.
“Girl, you know what I mean. I’m just disgusted with Lolita as usual. The words coming out of her mouth is no less than perfumed bile. No, honestly those words don’t even amount to shit. I swear you saved that woman’s life when you changed the subject of Nook falling through the cracks, with food. With food.”
“The food was good…” I grimace as his anger rises.
“Of course the food was good. But Lolita was like ‘any which way the wind blows’ when it doesn’t come to her selfish ass.” Jamie argues.
I can’t stand up for my mother because he’s the only one who’s helped clean up her vomit and piss. So unfortunately for me, I just have to take it.
Jamie argues, “So ‘fuck Nook,” is pretty much what I heard her say before you changed subjects. I swear, you’ve been fending for yourself, working, taking care of her for an entire lifetime.”
“C’mon, Jamie, my mom’s been forever dying of a broken heart.”
“Whatever. Look, be real with me, Reese, how is Flour Shoppe really doing? I am your best friend.”
I want to speed faster as anxiety washes over me, but can only go slower in afternoon traffic. “As you know, I
had to get a loan on Flour.”
Jamie nods.
“The loan company won't take anything less than full payment since I'm on a repayment plan already. The balloon payment that I must make in order to level out my debt is zooming up fast—”
“Balloon payment,” Jamie gasps. “Reese, I could strangle your scrawny neck right now. My aunt had a balloon payment on her home once! We’re both aware how that ended! I’m calling Chu.”
“Hell no.”
“My Argentinian boyfriend?” He arches an eyebrow. “Cross over to the 110 freeway, it’s coming up soon. We can stop by his nightclub, Powerhouse, in a flash.”
“Not gonna happen.”
We argue for the next twenty minutes while creeping along the freeway. None of Jamie’s threats penetrate, as I inch right past the overpass.
“Alright, Reese, suit yourself.” He waves me off.
“I am, thank you.”
Then Jamie turns back toward me, arms folded, his bony chest rising and falling. “Is there anything else you’ve neglected to tell your best friend?”
“No,” I glare at him for an instant, and then turn my attention forward.
A tensed silence slices the car in half for the remainder of the drive. We’ve gotten into many arguments over the past decade but my heart is still unsettled. This morning, I was already determined that I needed to make amends with my credit or pay my employees their dues. There's no way to do both, so I have to resort to plan b.
This modified plan sucks to high heavens with my best friend sitting parallel to me, arms folded, big lips tensed. I parallel park across from Flour Shoppe, pull the keys from the ignition and take a deep breath. “Jamie, you still mad at me?”
“Yes.”
My eyes widen, “What the heck did I do?”
“You lied to my face.”
I scoff. “I have never been called a liar, Jamie, thanks for being the first.”
He turns in his seat, licks his lips and says, “I asked you not thirty minutes ago did you have anything else to tell me. Anything at all.”
“I don’t have to tell you—”
“Reese, we tell each other everything. Everything. So you’re sleeping with the damn cop! Are you crazy?”
Guilt clings to my shoulders. The sort of disappointment one feels when letting down their parents’ wraps around me. But I’m too angry to admit it. Jamie knew I was banging my stepbrother all along and saved the reprimanding for later.
“Look, I know screwing Evan isn’t a good thing to be doing…”
“Damn straight!”
“But it’s not like I’m marrying the guy. We slept together a few times, that is all.” A few times… every single friggen time we’ve gotten together over these past few weeks.
“That’s all, huh?” Jamie lets his tongue glide over his teeth. I glare. He rolls his eyes. Those damn eyes are telling me the error of my ways.
“Let’s take Princess Lolita out of the equation,” he says sarcastically.
“Let’s not.”
“Oh, but we should, Reese’s Pieces. How old were we when—”
“Stop!” My eyes burn. I blink rapidly, no time for tears now. The past is the past, and that’s where it should stay!
“Stop? Well, that’s a universal word not everyone abides by, Reese. Hmmm, that word ‘stop’ some men must be selectively mute to the word!”
“Jamie, I swear to you, keep talking and I’m going to slap you. You’re always threatening the slap me silly, but I promise, I will slap the shimmery eyeshadow off your face!” I shout. There are grimy hands rubbing all over my body, and I want to burn the fucking skin I live in for being touched, touched without my consent! My eyes close instinctively…
“Damn, Reese, you’ve got that ‘hold it all in’ down to a T.” He gets out and slams the door.
I get out and I slam the damn door too. Then I pause for a moment, wait this is my damn car! I grumble as Jamie gauges when it’s safe to walk across the street. Instead of waiting, I walk!
“Reese, are you trying to get hit!” Jamie shouts, as a SUV honks its horn.
Stiff arms at my side, legs full of lead, I walk toward Flour, not looking back, not saying one word. Anger radiates off my body so it wouldn’t do walking through the front door. I believe Sandra had one last appointment this evening for a possible designer cake at a retirement party.
Friggen wintertime, the holiday rush is gone, and the wedding season rush isn’t swooping in fast enough.
As I'm entering the back entrance of Flour, the music is getting cranked up. Sublime’s Santeria has Maria, Luis and Sandra singing at the top of their lungs. The leggy blonde is in her element with a sweet, white residue on her cheek.
Jamie, who is not a fan in the least and has said the song gives him the creeps, stalks toward the radio panel as they’re sing-shouting about a "new forty-five." He slaps the off button. “I can’t stand this damn song,” he says.
The three of them stop belting out lyrics and look at the two of us. Their gazes zipping back and forth, sensing the argument between childhood best friends.
“Luis, my office please.” I turn on my heels, take a deep breath and bat my eyes to stave off more tears. Not tears from sorrow, when Jamie tried to bring up one of the worst days of my life—after Milo died. No, but tears from being the bearer of bad news.
As I walk, I take in the high-end appliances. Why not get rid of a Viking stainless steel refrigerator? God knows I actually googled the price of my make and model being resold. It would put a dent in my debt but where to place dairy products and other material that needs to be refrigerated. Yeah, I was frantic when considering that option.
“Qué pasa, Reesita?” Luis says the nickname he's given me. His dark eyes shade in concern for me. The sadness is written all over my face.
“Luis, you're being laid off until wedding season.”
“No, no, Reese, Reesita, I've got niños, Lara is pregnant.”
“I'm sorry,” my voice croaks.
“I'll deliver in my own car... I'll…” Luis places his hands atop his head, hooking his fingers together.
“When we... If we make it to April, you'll be hired back, Luis. Again I apologize.” I bite my lip, and step out of the office. I'd made the birthday cake for his oldest who'd just turned five. His wife has bore children each year since then, with a baby in the oven, Luis needs this job.
Sandra is calling my name as I head to the alleyway exit. Jamie’s lips are pursed; his only issue is why I truly shouldn’t fuck a cop. And it has nothing to do with Milo but everything to do with the two of us murdering a man… One of my mom’s boyfriends. She married assholes, but still had a taste for creeps. This one didn’t comprehend the meaning of STOP.
Chapter 13
Evan
She's got big hair and an even bigger mouth. Too lippy for her own good. Isabella saunters exaggeratedly slow to the door of my apartment as I stand at the window.
Her exit is reluctant. “I'm leaving, Tino.”
I wave her off for calling me by that nickname.
She's giddy and smiley, while leisurely opening the door. “If I leave, I'm not coming back! That's a promise. Get what I’m sayin’?”
I chuckle under my breath and sip my scotch. Then I hear a very jealous response which is not from Isabella’s alter ego.
“Good. You should leave,” Reese says.
Isabella's long, model legs almost stumble as she turns around. She's good and fucking drunk. So there'll be scratches if need be, all the while donning a super tight, short Versace mini no less.
“Listen you little bi–”
“Okay, okay,” I hightail it across the room.
“Isabella Zaccaro, meet Reese Dunham.”
“Reese? Oh fuck, you're family!” The cuss is stifled as Isabella pulls Reese into a hug. I notice the embarrassment creep up Reese's face before she's drawn into my cousin’s bosoms. Clothing is like a bug repellent to Isabella. However, my cousin has saved me f
rom having to sleep with a stalker-ish female more times than I can count.
Funny, I haven't bedded the same lady repeatedly since being in high school. The one I'm drawn to day and night just so happens to now be my stepsister.
“Look, I didn't mean anything by that, alright?” Isabella says in her strong accent. “Moved to the East Coast to be near the rest of the fam and I hardly see the friggen brat,” she says of me. “I'm territorial with the fam, and I thought you were just some broad. But you're the fucking family!” She's still holding Reese at arm’s length.
“Oh, it was my fault really. Bad day, so I’m testy for no reason,” Reese tries as Isabella drags her inside.
“Don't be a good for nothing brat, capiche?” Isabella gestures toward me. “You just heard Reese say she’s had a bad day. Get your sis a drink, be useful for once. Reese, he's not accustomed to having brothers or sisters. We gotta train em, eh?”
“Yeah,” Reese mumbles, gaze gliding over mine. I want to pull her into my arms, hold her close and tell her everything will be okay. No wait, why is she in the dumps? I want to beat the shit outta whoever has made her feel this way.
Since she doesn't decline the drink, I begin to the wet bar. I've been taking orders from my older, girl cousins since I was three. It's either comply or endure the wrath of their mouthpiece.
“You got any real siblings?” Isabella asks as they start for the couch.
“No,” Reese says. She mumbles her thanks for the double shot I've handed over.
“Well, look, I'm only in town for a while. I'm sure Uncle Tony's gonna have a party 'fore I go. If he doesn't, don’t tell any of my other cousins, though, but the brat here is my favorite cousin. We’ll eat something. Lunch. Dinner. Fuck it, breakfast if we run outta time, but you’re family. Tonight I'm going to The Powerhouse. You don’t look up to it, but you wanna go?”
See, the mouthpiece. Isabella has gone from topic to topic, to conclusion back to speculation.
