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I grunt and cover my face with my hands. “Be serious Mom. Do you think I want to go and have fun while he’s rotting in jail? No, thank you. I was doing pretty well here before you showed up, so if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to return back to my bed.”
She captures my wrist gently in her palm. “Oh baby, I’m sorry you’re hurting.” Yep, there’s that pity. “But do you think that amazing man would want you moping around here alone? I don’t think so. Let’s go, honey. You got a half hour to get ready or I’ll drag you out as you are.”
I glare, lips in a tight line. “Fine.”
* * *
Well, she won. I’m at some outdoor restaurant among all these people I have very little desire to be around. The girl next to us is complaining to her friend about a bad manicure and how she’s going to post all these bad reviews. I’m close to turning around and telling her to shut the hell up because some of us have real problems. But I don’t. I try to tune her out instead.
At least I could wear my sunglasses and avoid eye contact with everyone. I kept my high bun and just threw on a black tunic dress and grey flats. My outfit represents my mood quite nicely.
“I don’t understand. How is that possible?” Mom asks after just learning Damian is the same boy she once knew long ago. “You know, the day you were in the hospital the doctor mentioned his last name and for a second I thought what if he’s the same boy. I never knew his first name or any of their first names. If it wasn’t for their mailbox, I probably wouldn’t know their last name either.”
“Believe me, I was just as shocked as you are.” I sip on my iced tea, while stabbing at the Caesar salad with my fork, like it’s my enemy.
“Wow. I can’t believe he’s the same person. That little boy was so hard, so beaten down by life. But the man I met is nothing like that.” She’s right, he isn’t, but she didn’t know the boy like I did. She didn’t see the boy who simply wanted a friend; the one who tried to hide his pain away; the one who wanted someone to help, but no one ever did.
She lets out a deep sigh. “That poor boy...everything he went through as a child.” She shakes her head at the memory. “His father was a horrible man. I don’t know how much you remember, but God he was vicious to that woman. We were all afraid of him. One day, Johnny, the neighbor on our floor, heard Damian’s mother screaming for help and called the police. Damian was only maybe four then. But before the police arrived, Johnny went to intervene and ended up with a broken arm. After that, most of us minded our own business. I wanted to do something, but your father had told me to stay out of it.”
My heart races at the mention of my father. I hadn’t heard her speak of him in a long time. When I was young, I didn’t understand why he left. I thought I had done something to send him away. But Mom told me it wasn’t my fault. She said sometimes adults make poor choices and that my father’s choice wasn’t caused by anything I did.
I loved my father and I thought he loved us too, so it was difficult to understand how he could just leave and never look back.
When I was fifteen, I asked my mom to tell me the truth about what happened, and she did. I’m glad she didn’t hold anything back. I needed closure.
I recall how we sat down together, my hands in hers while she told me how my father met another woman and had gotten her pregnant. Once Mom found out, she kicked him out and he felt it was easier if he cut all ties with us. I think he just wanted to erase the family he created and start from scratch. I rub at my throat, still feeling the loss.
My mother is oblivious to my internal torment as she continues on. “I always felt sorry for Damian and his mother. When I heard what his father did, I couldn’t stop thinking about him. I’m glad to see he turned out as well as he did.”
If she only knew what kind of man he really is, how much he sacrificed to protect me, to see I don’t suffer anymore. “Mom, I have to tell you something.”
She lifts up her fork, stopping it mid-air. “What is it, honey?”
“You don’t know everything.”
She gently sets her fork down. “What are you talking about?”
“Damian he— he took the blame. For me,” I whisper. “I’m the one who killed Ash.” She covers her mouth with her hand, and I tell her everything without missing a detail.
“Oh baby, I wish I could make all of this better for you both.”
“Nothing can make any of this better. Nothing. I just want him. I want us. That’s all. But I’ll wait for him.He’s worth it.”
“He is honey, he is.”
For once today I’m grateful, grateful for the sunglasses that hide the tears brimming in my eyes.I love youI whisper, hoping my words are strong enough to travel the distance and reach inside his heart.
* * *
DAMIAN
“With good behavior you’ll probably be out in six to ten months. But one thing at a time, Damian. There’s no indictment yet.” My attorney shuffles around inside his briefcase, stuffing a manila folder back inside as he sits across from me in the meeting room.
“She’s out for blood, my blood, so you know she’ll find a way to convince the grand jury I’m guilty. When will that hearing be anyway?” I ask.
“It can take a few weeks or a few months. I’ll let you know as soon as I find out.”Months? Fuck!“You’ve been dealt a shitty hand but try to hang in there.”Tell me something I don’t know. He stands, pushing the chair back and waves. An officer returns to take me back to my cell.
I wish they’d sentence me already, that way Lilah can visit. How am I supposed to survive not seeing her for months while the District Attorney’s office figures their shit out?
