Page 21 of Sexting the Don

I'm stewing over how to steer this conversation away from dangerous waters when suddenly, a familiar and unwelcome voice breaks the tense silence.

“Before Jimmy knows aboutwhat?”

Chapter 9

Mandy

“What the hell are you two talking about?”

My gut sinks as I spin around on my toes to see the last person I want to lay eyes on.

My father is standing at the entrance to the kitchen, a small bottle of cheap whiskey in his hand, stains on his shirt from God knows what. He’s unsteady, his hand firmly on the doorframe to balance himself. While Mom and I are just getting up, starting our day, Jimmy’s finishing one of his usual nights on the town, no doubt getting hammered with his usual pack of lowlifes.

“None of your business.” My words shoot out like razor blades. I’m not in the mood for his shit, not even a little.

“You used my fucking name.” He pushes off the door frame and steps over, looking on the verge of tripping over his feet. “I’d say that makes it my business.”

His beady, bloodshot eyes flick to the money in Mom’s hand.

Fuck.

He lifts a finger. Even from across the kitchen, I can see grime caked under his fingernail.

“What is that?”

“Money,” I said. “I can understand why you’d be confused. The only time you see it is when you’re giving it away to people you owe it to, not like you ever earn any for yourself.”

His eyes flash with anger. “Not another word unless I ask for it, missy.” Jimmy turns his attention back to Mom. “Florence, what’s that?”

“It’s just some cash.” Mom’s an amazing person, but a good liar she most certainly is not.

I need to jump in. My brain kicks into overdrive as I prepare to spin up a quick tale of bullshit, one of the few worthwhile skills Jimmy passed on to me.

“It’s mine,” I said. “Money I’ve been saving. You know, from the reputable job I work?”

He pauses, his alcohol-fried neurons trying desperately to keep up and process the conversation.

“I can see that it’s money. But why the hell are you giving it to your mother?”

Mom opens her mouth to speak, but I cut her off before she can.

“Well, I was going to tell you later, but I’m leaving.”

Jimmy cocks his head to the side. “Leaving?”

“Yeah, leaving.” I nod toward the cash. “That’s enough for the mortgage for the next couple of months. I didn’t want to screw you over when I move out. I know you’ve been counting on myincome for expenses, so I wanted to help out one last time.”

Jimmy regards me with skepticism for a few beats longer, tension building in the air. Part of me is worried he sees right through my lies, that he somehow knows that I’ve got way, way more cash up in my room.

He takes a long, slow sip of his booze as if it’ll give him what he needs to decide what he wants to do next. When he’s good and ready, he twists the cap onto his bottle, slips it neatly into his back pocket, and staggers toward Mom.

“Give it over,” he says, his meaty palm outstretched. The closer he gets, the stronger the smell of nasty, stale cigarettes and cheap alcohol becomes.

“Why?” Mom stammers. “It’s for the mortgage. It doesn’t matter which one of us has it; it’s going straight into the bank either way.”

Jimmy snaps his fingers as he steps closer. “I said, hand it over.”

Mom glances over at me, and I waste no time stepping between her and Jimmy. He keeps on coming, his drunken momentum carrying him forward. He barely manages to hit the brakes before he barrels into me.

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