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I nod. “The paramedics were able to revive me, but when they took me to the hospital, my mother was met by a social worker. They were concerned that a mother with Down syndrome couldn’t care for a child with an allergy that severe. They asked about the whereabouts of my father, and that’s where things apparently took a turn.
“The Hanson House had several births that year. The facility was suspicious that someone had been purposely impregnating these women or, worse, raping them, but no one was talking—especially not my mother.”
“You think your mother was raped,” Reese adds.
I yawn, feeling the medicine trying to take me under. “I don’t know what I think. She was always adamant that she loved my father and that he was a good man, but she never told me his name. She didn’t want him to get in any trouble.”
“Why would he get into trouble?”
“Because he didn’t have Down syndrome.”
Reese scoffs. “And? What does that have to do with anything?”
“Well, you’d be surprised how many people will assume abuse before love. Granted, there’s history of unspeakable things happening to women with disabilities, but still, my mother found love and didn’t want anything jeopardizing that until he came home.”
“Came home? Where was he?”
I shrug. “She wouldn’t say.”
“So, what ended up happening with the social worker at the hospital?” I can tell Reese is holding back a dozen more questions she’d love to ask, but she knows me well enough to tread lightly. I don’t know why I’m telling her all this in the first place. Maybe it’s because I’m tired and my defenses are down, or it’s simply time to confide in someone other than Enoch.
“They allowed my mother to take me home on a conditional basis.”
“Which entailed what?” She huffs, disgusted with people she doesn’t know. “Someone periodically checking up on her?”
“Basically, but that’s not what I remember sucking the most.” I make this low noise in my chest, fighting back my anger whenever I think of them. “My mother’s parents were never any help to us,” I start. “To this day, I’ve never met them. They wanted nothing to do with me, even after she passed. They were positive I was the product of rape and disapproved of their daughter’s choice to proceed with the pregnancy. I think losing them was the hardest on my mother, though she never admitted it.”
Reese’s head settles on my chest, her hair smelling of rosemary and mint. “Fuck them right in the armpit.”
I chuckle. “Yeah. We never wasted any energy thinking of them, but they aren’t what used to depress me.” I find a smile, thinking of the first time I handed my mother a yogurt. “My mother loved yogurt more than anything. I would see her look longingly at it every time she saw anyone with it in the community dining room. We couldn’t keep any dairy products in our apartment because of me. Even when I promised our social worker I wouldn’t touch it, she still said no. It was a precaution.”
The self-loathing I fight off every day blisters under my skin. “I heard the rumors. I knew some children there weren’t conceived out of love. My mother had been through so much because of me. Her parents disowned her, social services and the police were always up her ass, and she couldn’t even have a fucking yogurt. I was sick of being a burden.”
“I’m sure she would disagree that you were ever any trouble.”
I laugh, but it sounds half-asleep. “I was always a nightmare, but she was a saint and would never admit it.”
“So, what did you do?”
Leaning my cheek to Reese’s head, I sigh. “I got her killed.”
“What?”
I push Reese’s head back down to my chest. “Do you want me to tell you the story or not?”
“I do, but what the fuck, Van? You can’t just drop that tidbit and expect me to sit still.”
“That’s exactly what you will do if you don’t want me to stop.”
Her body relaxes next to mine. “Fine. You’re so sensitive.”
And she’s so brave to be talking to me like that.
“Anyway, before someone interrupted with theatrics, I was about to say that I started working at this café across the street, bussing tables and washing dishes. I wasn’t old enough to be working, but the owner knew we were residents at the Hanson House and agreed to pay me off the books. With my first paycheck, I went to the grocery store and—”
“Oh my gosh! You bought her yogurt, didn’t you?” She jumps up and plants a rough kiss on my lips. “You sweet, sweet, man. I knew I loved your ass.”
Ignoring her ridiculous outburst, I shove her back to my chest. “Would you like to finish the story since you know so much about it?”
