Page 90 of Heartfelt Pain
“What happened?” I asked. I don’t think as a little kid I even followed her around asking questions. Here I am twenty-seven and pestering her in the kitchen. “Why did you go to lunch?”
“She asked me.” She frowns slightly like she doesn’t understand my urgent questioning.
“But why’d you go?”
“It’d be rude not to accept after I already agreed.”
“Why, Yelena?” Dad asks. He doesn’t admonish Mom in front of others. Not really. His brow is wrinkled, though, as he wipes the table up. “Ren is. . .”
“Normally too busy to take a lunch?” Momfinishes for him.
He smooths his shirt down, the gray material somehow lucky not to end up with a food stain. “I’ve never lectured you about who you dine with, but you know Ren and what she does. And you know. . .”
I’ve hardly seen Dad search for words and yet here is.
“That we screwed her over and now she hates us,” I say for him.
“People know she came to Sailor’s birthday.” Mom stands by the island, looking out of place in the kitchen. The backsplash is made out of earth-toned tiles. Pots and pans are hung up and the brick wall arches over the huge gas stove.
She’s once again in her clothes of choice—a gray satin skirt and gray sweater. There’s a purplish undertone to it that drags her down instead of brightening her. Or maybe it’s the yellow lights of the kitchen making her appear like one giant walking bruise.
“Which in itself was weird,” Dad says of the party invitation. “People asked questions.”
“Like what?” Mom asks.
“Like why she was there.”
“Did you tell them she helped Russet adopt Sailor.”
Dad grabs his whiskey. “We have lawyers. Adopting Sailor was never an issue.”
“I think it took great courage,” Mom says, “of that Trevino to bring the will to Ren. I’m quite pleased he came along.”
“She brought a bodyguard to my house!”
Dad didn’t seem so aggrieved yesterday. He’s held it in and maybe because we interrupted his meal, but he looks like he’s going to need another glass of whiskey.
“She suggested we add more guards to Roma for protection.” Mom straightens a crystal bowl of fruit on the island. “I think she is worried about you.”
“Did you talk about me?” I ask slightly horrified but alsocurious.
“Of course. What else would we talk about,” she says it like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“Mom. . . you can’t just. . .”
Her blue eyes are clear.Go to lunch with your girlfriendshe silently tells me. I fall onto a barstool.
“She eats like a pig.”
“Mom!”
“It is so unfair.” She turns the crystal bowl. “To be able to eat anything she wants and not gain weight. Though, I fear she is a bit too skinny. Roma, you must feed her.”
For a second it feels like there’s too much to unpack there. Even Dad stands there, his lips parted in surprise.
Mom isn’t one to soften her tone yet here she is saying the closest thing to a compliment she’ll ever say. And then topping it off with a not-so-subtle hint that it’s my responsibility to keep her fed.
“Why would Roma be feeding Ren?” Dad asks, hands on his hips. I get a flashback to my high school days when I came home after mouthing off to a teacher. Dad struck up this same pose. And it’s the toned-down version, not the one he uses as the mafia king.
