Page 23 of Claimed By the Don

“Daisy, he’s gonna find your report cards, at least tell a better lie,” my mom chuckles. I roll my eyes.

“I was really, really shy, okay?”

“You were shy?” he doesn’t believe me, I can tell.

“I only ran team relays in cross country. I did hair and makeup for the school play. I didn’t want to be noticed.”

“That’s sad, Mommy,” he says thoughtfully. My sweet boy.

“It’s okay. I came out of my shell after high school,” I tell him, “And I’m happy now. I have everything I want.”

“I’m happy you got rid of that hair,” he says, pointing conspicuously at my junior picture. I had tried to flatiron my hair and defrizz it into submission and it just looked flat and greasy.

“That wasn’t a great look,” I admit. He gives me so much side eye that I have to laugh.

“This child is savage,” I tell my mom.

“He gets it from you,” she says.

When he looks at the pages of senior pictures I freeze. There in full gorgeous color is the first picture he’s ever seen of his father. I can practically smell the cigarette smoke just looking at that cocky half smile, the way he looked filthy and dangerous even in a white button down that’s every kind of respectable. My mouth goes dry just looking at his picture.

“Let me see that,” my mom interrupts and we hand her the yearbook. She says something random about a girl pictured there whose mom she grew up with. It’s enough to break my reverie. I go get the vacuum out and set to work.

“Uh-oh” I hear my son say.

He recognizes the sounds and sights of panic cleaning. I started on the floors, but I’ll do the windows next. Anything to distract me. The only pictures I’d had of Benny when we were together years ago were on the phone I abandoned. I didn’t back them up, email them to myself or anything. In the years since, I had once or twice wished for a photo I could keep for Liam when he’s older, when he asks questions.

The storm of different feelings I have about Benny isn’t something I even know how to pick apart. I know I’m afraid of his job and his association with the criminal underworld. That hasn’t changed a bit. There was so much dread in my entire body about seeing him, being seenbyhim when I first arrived back here. To feel that swept away, to know clearly and confidently that he never posed a threat to me is no surprise. It was always the people who’d target him that keep me awake at night.

Except when I’m with him. I fell asleep at his place last time. He had to wake me so I could sneak back in the house. We laughed about it, how we’re way too old for me to be creeping in and out of my mom’s house. But I’d slept so deeply, so utterly at ease inhis arms that it made me think. Maybe I’ve been lonely for him all these years I thought I had insomnia. It was a symptom of missing him.

But nothing has really changed. He still has a dangerous job, there are still enemies that could hurt those close to him. And now, that’s not only me. It’s Liam too. Even if he doesn’t know it. No, I have to be smart here. I have to end things before they go any farther. When I see him next, I have to call this whole thing off. I owe him a proper goodbye. I’ll tell him to his face, even if my courage deserts me.

Benny agrees to meet me for coffee. We go to some fancy joint with exposed brick and Pan-Asian décor. I’m more than halfway done with my iced coffee—pure caffeine singing in my veins, when I decide it’s time to tell him.

“Let me take you to Coney Island,” he says before I can launch into my awkward speech.

“What?” I ask.

He hands me a gift bag and I pull out a box containing the latest model Canon DSLR. I open the box, hold the body of the camera in my hands. It’s almost involuntary. I should push the box back across the table and say it’s too much, I don’t want any gifts. But all I can do is examine it, turn it over in my hands and explore the controls, the manual settings, the options on automatic mode. I imagine holding this camera, peering through the lens and capturing the world around me like I used to love to do. Capturing action shots of Liam at the splash pad, Liam and my mom playing cards—every moment I want to save. The urge to keep this gift is overwhelming.

“Coney Island. I want to see it with you now, what it looks like all grown up. Maybe you’ll take some new pictures I can hang on my wall.”

I meet his eyes and shake my head. “I can’t accept this,” I manage.

“Is it the wrong kind? You used a little Canon digital camera until you got a new phone.”

“It’s not wrong. It’s exactly right, Benny. You always get it right,” I say, barely choking out the words. I fit the camera back in the box carefully. “I cut hair now. I help my mom out when I can. I don’t run cross country or take pictures or do the hair and makeup for shitty amateur productions of Wicked anymore either,” I say.

“I’ll take it back,” he says, moving the camera and box out of the way. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. It was thoughtful and sweet. It’s just not something that fits in my life anymore. I don’t have that kind of free time.”

“Then tell me about work,” he says decisively, so smooth, no recriminations, no attempt to convince me to keep the gift. I let myself relax a little.

“Work is terrific. Busy, of course. I like it there.””

“Have you ever thought about opening your own salon?” I ask.

---