“Let’s go back to the men in your mother’s life trying it on with you,” Mitch demanded in a careful way and I looked back at him.
“It wasn’t that, Mitch. I wasn’t violated or not completely,” I told him without a hint of emotion. “They’d come in my room, be handsy but they were usually drunk or high so I’d get away. Then I learned to get away earlier so they didn’t even get to take a shot. Some of them were even nice. Some of them, I think, knew what it was like being Melbamae’s daughter. A couple of them tried to be like dads to me.” I shook my head and looked away, muttering, “Melbamae hated that most of all.”
I grabbed my drink and took the last sip, setting the glass down and staring at the floor beside our table. Through this, Mitch didn’t speak. Through all of it, Mitch kept hold of my hand. When it hit me he wasn’t talking, just sitting there holding my hand, my eyes drifted to his.
The instant they did, he asked, “You do know she isn’t you?”
“I know,” I whispered.
“And you know that isn’t your life and it really never was.”
I pressed my lips together and shrugged again. My eyes started to slide away but Mitch’s fingers tensed in mine to the point where it almost hurt. It definitely caught my attention. At the same time his hand gave mine a rough jerk, pulling it toward him which meant I had no choice but to lean in and my eyes flew back to his.
“I don’t understand how your mind works, baby,” he said softly, also leaning into me. “How you twist shit around but that was not your life then and it isn’t your life now. Instead of you sitting there looking at anything but me, thinkin’ I’m gonna judge you for shit that was never in your control, you should be sitting there proud in the knowledge that you got the fuck out and made somethin’ of yourself, made somethin’ of your life.”
“I –”
He shook his head, his fingers tensed even deeper in mine and I clamped my mouth shut.
“I’ve told you this before and I’ll say it again. In my job I see a lotta shit, a lot, and it is rare, Mara, unbelievably, fuckin’ rare that any kid is born to a life like yours and has the strength to get the fuck out and make something of themselves.”
“I sell beds, Mitch,” I reminded him. “I’m not the president of the free world. I don’t even have a college education.”
“Who cares?” he asked back, quick as a flash.
“I don’t own a house.”
“Neither do I,” he pointed out.
Hmm. This was true.
“Do you know who your father is?” I asked and his eyes flared.
“Yeah, and you’re gonna know him too because you’re gonna meet him.”
I shook my head. “Don’t you see, Mitch? I don’t even know who my father is.”
“Again, honey, that says nothin’ about you. Again, you were born to that. You didn’t take that away from yourself. Your mother took it away from you.”
I tried a different strategy. “Do you have a college education?” I asked.
“Yeah,” he answered and my eyes started sliding away again.
That got my hand another jerk.
“Eyes back to me,” he growled in a way my eyes went back to him. “Me havin’ a college degree means I live in a different zone than you?”
“And your mother wears twinsets,” I reminded him.
He blinked. Then he stared at me.
Then he shook his head and his lips twitched before he said, “Sweetheart, do you not see that shit’s whacked?”
“No,” I pointed out the obvious.
“Well, it’s whacked,” he returned.
I leaned deeper toward him and looked him straight in his fathomless, beautiful eyes.
“Two weeks ago, you walked through a window to my world and you lost your mind, Mitch. You took one look at Bill and the state of Billy and Billie’s lives and you lost your mind. That is my family. That is my life. And you don’t understand this because it isn’t your life but there is no way to escape it. There is no way. Because it haunts you. It’s your cousin in jail and facing prison if he survives to his trial. It’s his kids in your house, one worried about her Daddy when he’s done nothing to deserve it, the other worried about everything when he should be worried about getting to the next level on some video game. It knocks on your door and shouts the unit down so your neighbor has to confront it in the breezeway. It’s a beautiful, kind man looking into you and finding you have a juvie file. It never goes away. It’s always there. It isn’t history. It’s in my blood. It’s me.”
“No, Mara, two weeks ago, I walked into your cousin’s house. I did this after I had dinner with a beautiful woman and two really good kids and I lost my mind because that assclown didn’t give a fuck that his kids ran away and hadn’t had anything to eat all day. His house was a disaster and he was drunk and stoned and he didn’t even flinch when his kids saw him that way. I lost my mind because their clothes didn’t fit and their shoes were comin’ apart and he had vodka and smack and smokes. And I lost my mind because he didn’t apologize to you that you had to drop everything and look out for his kids and you did it in a way that I knew you were a practiced hand and I knew you were a practiced hand because he’s an assclown.”
I stared at him as he lifted our hands, unlaced our fingers but kept hold of my hand, tight, palm to palm, fingers wrapped around and his eyes locked with mine.
“But it was three and a half weeks ago I walked into your world. A clean apartment, nice furniture, flowers on your bedspread and I found out you only own a hammer. I found out you have no clue that men buy mattresses and beds from you because you wear tight skirts that show off your great ass. Because you got legs that go on forever. Because you pin up your hair and all this makes them stand by beds and mattresses and they buy them from you because all they’re thinkin’ is that they want you with your hair down, their hands on your ass and those legs wrapped around them in that bed with them. That bed could be made of nails and they wouldn’t give a fuck. They’re all about buyin’ a fantasy and you rake in your commission but have no fucking clue.”
Ohmigod. Did he seriously think that was true?
“Mitch –”
“And I found out you have great taste in music and the reason you’d barely look at me for four years is that you’re pathologically shy.”
“Mitch –”
“And it’s cute.”
“Please, Mitch –”
“And this was great fuckin’ news because you bein’ shy meant you were into me which meant I finally was open to make a play.”
“Stop it,” I whispered.
“But it was seein’ those two kids respond to you and how you responded to them that made me understand it was worth the effort to take on what I knew would be the frustrating task of extracting your head outta your ass.”
“Stop it.” This time I said those two words on a hiss.
“I already knew you looked great in shorts, great in a bikini, you were a great cook, worked hard and your friends love to spend time with you.”