“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…
