Chapter 2
Caught out on my first day—but the joke was on him, this wasn’t even a real operation.
I’d grown up in Boston, surrounded by crime, surrounded by a father with a crippling gambling problem.
I grew up not knowing whether we’d be living in the same apartment—home, hotel, whatever it was, it wasn’t stable.
I was recruited out of college for my analytical mind, for the fact I could easily recall information I only saw glimpses of, and that’s how I knew after only a couple of minutes being inside Rocco’s office that there was nothing in there.
Maybe that was on purpose, or perhaps it was because he really wasn’t integral to the operations of running the family business.
I’d taken a break to come home. My mom was sick, and my dad was somewhere—I didn’t care where—but I needed to be around for her now.
The FBI had given me leave, but they’d soon yank me back into action, so I needed to find something, do something I could take back to them, and then I could stay local for a while and make sure my mom got the care she needed.
I got home around two in the morning, and my mom was asleep on the sofa in the living room, the Netflix screen paused asking if she was still watching. I sat beside her, and the moment I did, she shot upright—drowned in the large, crocheted blanket—like she’d been caught.
“Hey, Ma,” I said, stroking her leg.
She laughed, laying her head back on the cushion. “I was watching that show everyone’s raving about,” she said. “Clearly it didn’t keep me entertained.” As she laughed again, she started coughing uncontrollably.
It was difficult to see her like this. She’d gotten worse over the years, and she had walking pneumonia at one point as well.
Her immune system was wrecked for a time.
I wanted to wrap her up and stop life from ravaging her like this.
She insisted on telling me she was fine; she insisted on wanting to do things for herself.
“I can get it,” she let out, her voice hoarse from coughing as she reached for the nebulizer inhaler.
“Then I’ll make you some tea,” I said. “You’ve got that red berry one, full of antioxidants.”
“Only if you’re making one for yourself,” she said. “I’m not your charity case, Kalen. I can do this for myself. I have been doing this for myself for years without you.”
“Ma, just let me take care of you for a little bit,” I said as she inhaled a large squeeze from the inhaler.
The kitchen was sterile white, and everything smelled of bleach. I filled a tea kettle with water and placed it on the hob to boil. Of course I’d have tea with her, I loved spending time with her, but I wished she would let me do the most basic things for her, especially when she struggled.
“How was your night?” she asked, calling out before coughing once more. “Or am I not allowed to ask that?”
I peered into the lounge where she was now browsing different series box sets on the TV.
I’d lied to her, telling her I had work and not that I’d taken time off to be with her.
She would’ve called the government herself and forced them to send me off somewhere to work.
Probably far away—it wouldn’t be the first time she called me overbearing.
“You can stay in my bed again tonight,” she said, spotting me in the doorway, her eyes narrowing to small peepholes.
“No, Ma, I’ll sleep on the sofa. You need to be in your bed,” I told her.
“How will I watch TV?” she asked. “And no, I’m not taking the TV into my bedroom. It’ll make me lazy.” She stood up this time, shaking off the crocheted blanket. “
“You don’t need to watch TV when you’re asleep,” I told her. “Tomorrow, we should take a trip to the market as well. I’ve been thinking about that spicy beef stew and biscuits you used to make.”
She smiled at me, turning her head slightly. “That sounds delicious,” she said. “But my weekly budget won’t stretch to beef.”
I didn’t argue back, as much as I wanted to give her the world, but she’d just refuse it.
I really wanted to tell her it wasn’t a handout, it was just what family did.
The tea kettle whistled and was ready for our fruit tea.
It would help loosen the mucus in her chest, and I think ease her from the shock of me waking her on the sofa.
* * *
My time alone was spent in little space, as far as I could get into it.
Since I was on vacation leave to take care of my mom, I was forced to be very responsible.
I just needed all of it to drip away, though.
Ideally, I needed a man, a Daddy, someone to give me forehead kisses, gold stars, and a dorky thumbs-up from the sidelines of my little play.
I managed to get some time to regress because absolute exhaustion kicked in.
With my wired headphones playing the curated soundtrack to my childhood from my favorite movies and cartoons, I colored mandala pages with crayons and cuddled my plush cat, whose name changed weekly.
The little space bliss was temporary, though.
The doom clock told me it should be bedtime, and I was yanked right out of my happy place.
Squeezing the teddy to my chest, I woke on the sofa to my mom sitting at my side, combing her fingers through my hair. She was smiling now. “Your hair is so soft. It’s getting long, though,” she said, offering me a compliment and an insult at the same time about my hair.
“It’s not styled,” I said, my throat croaking.
“And you’ve still got Buttons,” she said.
“Yeah, Ma,” I said. Buttons was his original name. “I’m surprised you didn’t already see it.”
She shrugged. “I probably did, but you know how my head is right now. Lucky if it’s screwed on properly.”
“What time is it?”
“Just after nine,” she said. “You have to go to work?”
I shook my head. “No, no, not until this afternoon, so we’ll get plenty of time to hang out.”
“You said you were taking me to the market,” she said. “I’ve drawn up a list, and we should go to the yarn shop as well. There’s this chenille stuff, it’s like butter through your fingers.” She continued stroking her hand through my hair.
I didn’t mention how she’d changed her tune. She’d slept on it, she’d gone through the initial telling me no, and now she’d accept my help. I wondered if she’d noticed it was me topping up her bank account each month, or whether she’d amassed a small pot of savings from not noticing it there.
Part of me wished I could’ve had somewhere to be attached to, somewhere I could’ve strolled the streets of as if I’d grown up there and experienced a childhood with my friends tossing balls to each other—or whatever was normal.
I guess not having a normal childhood helped when I joined the FBI.
They liked my adaptability, and how the only civilian contact in my life was my mom—and that she never checked in with me.
On the other hand, I liked to make sure she was doing okay.
Breakfast was thin sliced gammon, scrambled egg, and toast. I’d brought it all with me, knowing she was only eating cereals and soups for all her meals.
I was trying my best to make sure she was fed, and getting vitamins into her, but I don’t think she’d touched the little pills since I was last here over Christmas, months ago.
We sat with plates on our laps as a sitcom played on the TV, my mom scratching her knife and fork against the tough gammon.
It was tough to hear, and to be the adult about it all, when my soul craved to be home in my small apartment in Brooklyn, where I was able to exist in the comfort of my little palace, a soft cloud sensory playroom.
“How long are you staying?” she asked.
“I’m not sure, Ma,” I said. “But if you want, I can get a hotel.”
“Oh no, you can stay as long as you want,” she said. “But you might have to put toward the utilities. It’s expensive running a home.”
“Whatever you need.” In a way, I was placating her, because part of me knew she wanted to argue or test me. I’d grown a lot. I had the nerve now to not give in when she wanted an argument. Watching her eat, the aggression she was putting into her utensils made me want to cut the meat for her.
“Have you heard anything from your dad?” she asked.
Oh, god. She really wanted to argue about something, anything it seemed. If it wasn’t fighting not to take my money, it was fighting to take it, and now, conversation about my dad. “No, nothing for a few years now. Think he might be dead.”
“That’s a horrible thing to say, Kalen.” Her eyes turned to daggers before becoming soft as she smiled. “If he is, I’ve not heard anything.”
“I don’t think you’re listed as his next of kin,” I said. “You got divorced because of his gambling debts, right?”
She waved a hand at me, her fork sending bits of scrambled egg flying everywhere. “Even if we are divorced, it should count for something.”
“Well, I’ve not heard anything,” I said, and I knew I could find out if I asked any of my friends at the agency to look for information on him.
But I wasn’t going to do that to myself, or her.
Closure would’ve been nice, but he’d decided to leave several times, and each time we thought it was the last—so maybe we’ve already had our last time.
She shrugged. “He knows how to contact us if he needs us,” she said. “As long as he doesn’t need money.” Her brows rose. “I’m surprised he hasn’t been in contact with you, big fancy job and all.”
“Ma, you know I’d rather keep that to myself,” I grumbled. “The last thing I need is for him to be getting into trouble and trying to call to and see if I could bail him out.”