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“Yeah, of course. Do you want some coffee?”
“No. I’m good. You cooking?” he asked as he sat.
“Yes! Turns out I like it. And I’m pretty decent at it, too.”
“Not surprised. You used to tweak the fuck out of ramen,” he said.
“Right?” I agreed, smiling. “I would make you a plate, but it’s in the slow cooker. Still has a few hours to go.”
“You got some good shit going here, huh?” he asked as Billy strutted into the room while Joel stood in the doorway, letting his brother get a feel for the stranger first.
“I do,” I agreed. “But are you, though?”
“Clean. Sober. Getting in shape. Holding down a job. Making amends. And, fuck, Av, there’s no one I owe an apology more to than you.”
“Hey, no. You were a kid.”
“I was a spoiled little shit,” he corrected. “And I made your life hell when you were killing yourself to try to take care of me, keep me out of the system. You didn’t deserve all the shit I did.”
“You were struggling too,” I said, though, God, it felt good to hear an apology, to know he saw the struggle all those years.
“Yeah,” he agreed. “But you were barely more than a kid too. For fuck’s sake, you were younger than I am now when you had to be mom and dad to me. I don’t know how you did it.”
“I really… didn’t,” I said, shaking my head. I felt like all I did was keep him out of prison most of the time.
“Come on. Who made me soup when I was sick? And patched up my knuckles or face when I got into the fifth fight of the week? And got me shit for Christmas, damn well knowing that there wasn’t going to be shit for you under the tree? And kept a roof over my head, on the off chance I decided to come home? You did the best you could with what life handed you. I didn’t see it then, but I see it now. And I’m just glad you got someone to take care of you now.”
“I like to think we take care of each other,” I said, because I believed that.
There had been a time, right at the beginning when we got serious, where I felt really weird about Emilio paying for everything. I’d even applied to several jobs before Emilio sat me down for our first real “serious talk.”
“I don’t like not contributing,” I’d insisted. “I’ve always taken care of myself.”
“You are contributing,” he’d reasoned. “Who is cooking, cleaning, shopping, taking shit to the dry cleaning, hosting dinners, and picking out presents for my family when there is a birthday or anniversary coming up?”
“But…”
“I want to take care of you in any way I can,” he’d cut me off. “I make more than enough money for the two of us.”
“But…”
“When we have kids, you want to be a stay-at-home mom.”
It wasn’t a question. We’d discussed it before. But I’d answered anyway. “Yeah. But we don’t have—“
“Do you really think your labor around here isn’t work?” he’d reasoned.
And, well, he had a point.
Some days, I busted my ass cooking and cleaning and shopping and preparing for his family to visit.
He’d been paying me for that work before we’d gotten serious. The “job” hadn’t changed, only the money that would have normally been coming to me.
So, yeah, logically, we’d both agreed that I would stay home, take care of the house, and wouldn’t feel guilty about it.
“I remember seeing you crying over bills,” Cage said, making my head whip up, finding him staring at the art on the wall, his eyes far away. “Every damn month,” he added. “I’m glad to know that shit ain’t happening anymore.”
God, I was too.
There wasn’t a single day that I took the freedom from that for granted. I don’t think I truly realized how heavy the weight of poverty was until it was suddenly lifted from my shoulders.
“I’m glad to know you’re not struggling so hard too,” I said.
“Me too,” he agreed.
“Have you… talked to your dad?” I asked.
“No,” he said, surprising me. I would have thought that he would want to show his father how well-adjusted he’d become. “I don’t think that’s healthy for me right now. Don’t think I ever really saw how toxic he was until Renzo forced me to look at the situation from a different perspective. Prolly will reconnect in the future. But not right now.”
“Good for you. I know it’s hard to say no to Frank.”
“Yeah. But it was needed. I have to get my shit together.”
“It seems like you’re already on that path,” I said, reaching across the table and giving his hand a squeeze.
“I’m trying,” he agreed. “And I want you to know how sorry I am for what I put you through. And that I’m really happy for you.”
