Chapter 18
Arya
It hurts to walk away from Michael, get in my car, keep my head up and my nerves together, and fight the San Francisco traffic until I make it across the bridge into Oakland. I know, somewhere in the back of my head, that I am overreacting a little bit. But I just keep driving, holding in my tears, curses, and regret over leaving until I can think about my next move.
I’m now parked on a hillside overlooking the spread of Oakland. Up here in the rolling hills, the dry grass is starting to green up out of season from the rain. The city sprawls out below, so different from how it had been when I was a kid. So much changed in only 10 years here, in San Francisco, in the South Bay.
Tent cities. People with three jobs, living in four- to two-bedroom apartments. Crime rates jumping, mostly upstarts who have nothing to do with the Families, blundering around and causing problems for everyone.
It’s rough out here. Rents through the roof, good jobs hard to come by, and whole cities where just parking on the street will get your car broken into or stolen at least a few times a year.
And here I am, on the cusp of jumping away from my family and trying to navigate it all on my own. In this economy, with everything uncertain.
And with my family turning on me like this, the whole area just feels less and less like home. Michael... he might be a tie to keep me here, or here, part-time. But after what he said, I don’t know if what’s started up with him will turn into anything lasting. Right now, I’m so hurt and pissed I barely want to think about him.
But he keeps creeping back into my head.
I keep half an eye out for anyone coming up toward the car as I use my phone to reserve a hotel room further south. The best I can get is Fremont, which isn’t great but better than staying in Oakland. I finish up and head back down the hill toward the freeway.
Even after the rain, the whole area is shrouded in a thin layer of smog. The winds keep San Francisco’s air a lot cleaner, but I can’t be there right now. Bad enough that I need to come by my parents’ place tomorrow to grab some fresh clothes from my closet.
Despite how bad it all looks and the unshed tears hurting my eyes and choking my throat, I am determined to protect myself. My mother will probably start with her check-in calls soon since I’ve been away for more than twelve hours again. I’ll deal with one call to make her shut up and leave me be for the day. Then, I’ll order room service, call a friend or two, and try not to think too much about missing Michael.
Michael probably doesn’t look down on my family that much; he is just overprotective of his own. I can see that now. The hurtful thing he said still feels like a red flag, but not a huge one. If anything, the real red flag is that he’s struggling so much with the idea that one of his family members seems to have turned on him.
But that’s the thing. As I think about this, my throat tightens, my vision blurs, and my eyes start to sting. I’m... I’m so jealous of him. He’s had the kind of life where he can actually still believe, as a grown man, that his family is all in his corner. It might be partly self-delusion, but there has to be something real there that it was built on, and it keeps it safe.
“I want that,” I mumble, even though it left Michael blind to potential betrayal. I still want a family that, for all its flaws, I can turn to and know they’ll never betray me.
But that wasn’t in the cards, and I can’t change that now. I can go make a family of my own with someone, but I can’t change my parents or somehow unlearn what I know about human nature because of them.
I think I’m doing all right driving until I nearly smack into a car that stops abruptly right in front of me. I gasp and let out a sob of shock as the sudden braking jolts me in my seat, but we haven’t so much as touched bumpers. I stick my head out of my side window, angry and confused—and then see the kids who spilled into the road ahead of the other driver.
...Oh.
Okay. Maybe I’m not okay .
I pull over by the side of the road and do my deep breathing while I struggle to get myself under control.
It isn’t that bad. I’m capable. I have a doctorate from a good school, two internships, my projects... I’ll get a damn job, and I’ll pick up some gig work in the meantime. And I do have a good amount of money socked away in case I ever get cut off. God knows Dad has threatened.
But do I really want to stay here in a Bay Area that doesn’t feel like home anymore but is still under the sway of my family?
No, no, of course I don’t. Who the hell would? Except... I have no idea where to go. Most places where my savings will stretch further don’t have the kind of jobs I’m looking to get. I’ve been too wrapped up in trying to redeem myself with my family to do any real research yet. Now, I’m on the brink of fleeing—or maybe even getting kicked out—without any kind of exit plan.
That won’t do. I have to think, plan, research, budget, and prepare. I have to make sure that nobody—parents, sister, family friends—knows specifics about me leaving they could use to sabotage me. I can’t let them talk me out of it, either. Once my parents push me past the point of no return—and I’m realizing now that it’s a matter of not if, but when—I need to know what to do exactly without anyone else getting in the way.
I have to be smart. Way smarter than they think I am. Not that that takes much .
I don’t understand how my mom and my sisters can be okay with my dad’s view of women. How they can not only swallow that shit and still treat him with respect but also let it change how they treat each other. How they treat me.
How do you look at other women and go, “Yeah, that’s right, we’re nothing but submissive baby-makers who should be forced to focus solely on serving our husbands and raising our kids,” and not want to throw up all over yourself?
“I’ll never get it,” I murmur, finally feeling calm enough that I can drive again. I put the car in gear and carefully pull out into the traffic flow, headed for the hotel.
I guess that maybe some women take going along to get along to a crazy degree, but... I’m just not made that way.
The hotel room is small but clean, with a queen bed with plain bedding and a television mounted to the wall across from it. There’s a tiny table to eat or use my laptop at, a fridge roughly the size of a sugar cube, and a bathroom with no cameras or two-way mirrors in it.
I set my bags down, feeling uncomfortable but no longer weepy. I feel like I had to hold it all back too long, and now, it’s inside me like poison. I want to be drunk, high, or asleep to get away from this knot of exhaustion and hopelessness inside of me.
Nothing but beer and wine on the room service list, of course. I order a big, gooey cheeseburger, several hundred sit-ups worth of fries, and a bottle of their best red... which is probably a little better than their worst red.
As I wait for my meal, I dial up Lisette, an old college friend who lives in the area. We mostly keep in touch to be nerdy and exchange tips on local hardware sales, but I have held her hand through a few breakups and moves.
Lisette picks up right away. “Hey, there, have you got something for me?” she asks since I’m usually calling with a list of gray-market and black-market goodies she might want.
“I wish, honey. Look, uh... I need your help.”
She’s instantly more serious. “You okay, honey? You don’t usually call with problems.”
“Well, I just... I have to make some big life changes, and I need someone to bounce things off of.” I try to keep my voice steady and positive—anything to avoid sounding like a whiner. But under it, I’m scared and lonely, and everything feels uncertain.
“Wait... are you finally leaving your parents?”
Lisette doesn’t know my family is involved in the mob, but she does know how rough things have been on me, even if I keep a big chunk of the details from her. She knows I’ve struggled between loyalty and my own needs for a long, long time. I can’t blame her for the excitement in her voice.
“Yeah... yeah, I am,” I admit and smile tentatively. It feels strange on my face. I wonder who I’m smiling for, but it does make it easier to keep my tone optimistic. “It’s just a lot, and I feel like I barely know what I’m doing.”
“Honey, you’re a PhD. I think you know what you’re doing.” She sounds amused by my attack of self-doubt.
“Uh, sure, when I have a computer in front of me. But I’ll have to find a job, find a place, figure out health insurance, budget... it’s just this huge list, you know?”
“Oh. Oh, I get it. Arya, you’re not incompetent; you’re just overwhelmed. I know all of this is new, but so was going through school without your parents’ support when you first started. If there’s part of it you need help with, I’ll do what I can, but don’t sell yourself short.”
Now, my smile feels tight on my face. She’s trying to help, but everything she’s saying sounds like a platitude. My mood must be in the toilet right now .
At least she’s offering real assistance with something. “I need you to put out feelers in the community. I want work in the field, whether I’m monitoring system security or fixing laptops. Can you do that for me?”
“Oh, that? Oh, hell yes, I’ll put the word out. Even if I can’t get you a position, I know I can get you a freelance project.”
I take a deep breath, glad that I’ve kept calm in spite of how I’m feeling. “Okay. That would be a great start. Can we talk more later? I’m guessing this isn’t the best time.”
“Oh... yeah, no, I’m cooking. I’ll put word out as soon as I’m back at my computer, though, and call you back... say tomorrow, late afternoon?” I hear her fridge open and close.
“Sounds great. And thank you. I’ll see about some food and get a nap in.”
“Take care, honey.” She signs off, and I set my phone back on the table, checking the time as I do so. My room service order is taking a little while.
That’s fine. My stomach is in a knot from how close I’ve come to losing my temper at my friend when I need her help. I need food, rest, and sleep before I deal with anyone else, or the crappy way I’m feeling may mess with those interactions, too.
I’ve caught it in time. That’s what matters. But now, I’m trying to avoid getting unreasonably pissed about the slow room service.
By the time everything comes, I’m so hungry that I could have eaten cheap fast food and found it tasty. It even tastes pretty good, and I manage to relax after drinking some of the wine.
And I’m still missing Michael.
My constant, simmering anger at my family barely ever eases without alcohol. My fears about the future nibble at me all the time, with only the slightest reminder needed to stir them up. But my anger at Michael slips away when I think of him now, and it’s not just the wine.
Slowly, slowly, I’m forgetting why I’ve taken what he said so hard, why I’ve gotten so upset, and why I need this break. It’s starting to look more and more like a typical argument caused by someone saying the wrong thing. And only that.
I’m just hurting so much from every other damn thing that it hit too hard for me to handle.
“How much of the shit I’m going through is really down to Michael anyway?” I ask the empty room suddenly. He might have screwed me over, but he is trying to make it up to me. Is my father doing that? My mother? Have any of them ever said “I’m sorry” and tried to make up for what they’ve done?
I’m two and a half glasses into a bottle of wine, and instead of being hazy, everything seems clearer than usual. My sense of vendetta seems to be slipping, but that doesn’t bother me as much now that I’ve realized this.
Is Michael my real enemy here? Especially if he makes good on his word?
I think about it for a while. And finally, I let out a sigh and reach for my phone.