Hard Conversations
*
The problem of the past.
Robert sat beside me in the security office, his arm on my shoulder, anchoring me. When he’d arrived at the parking garage, I’d braced myself for his anger. I’d expected him to blame me, to suggest I had somehow invited this vandalism.
Instead, his fear surprised me.
I wasn’t scared. I was furious.
“That car is a 2006 Kia Spectra,” I growled. “It’s gotten me through college, my early career, and probably has a rat living in it. If anyone’s going to destroy it, it should be me.”
The twenty-two-year-old security guard, still sporting acne patches, pointed to the footage on the monitor. “Around 3:30 p.m., this red truck pulls up, and a guy in a black ski mask steps out with a baseball bat.”
I stiffened as the truck came into view. Robert and I exchanged a glance, the same name flashing in our minds. Before Robert could speak, I blurted out, “Of course, that sadistic prick would do this.”
The security guard’s eyebrows rose, and I muttered, “Sorry.”
Clearing my throat, I leaned forward. “Can you pull up the license plate?”
He clicked through the footage, but the plate had been covered up. Leaning back in my chair, I groaned. “Can you give us the footage? We’ll take it to the police.”
Robert squeezed my shoulder, and I turned to him. His expression sent a chill down my spine. His fear looked sharper than I’d seen in years, as if Tony had appeared behind us instead of on the screen.
Four years ago, Robert had cut ties with his family, but Tony, his mother’s abusive husband, had shown up at our apartment, demanding to see him. Robert hid, but I confronted Tony instead. My five-foot-tall self had squared off against the six-foot-two, 300-pound man, daring him to hit me.
“You touch me, I call the cops. I’m not one of your kids,” I snapped.
As the security guard slid the flash drive with the footage across the desk, I watched Robert’s internal battle unfold. His terror was justified—Tony could have killed him countless times in the past—but I didn’t understand why Tony had targeted me. Why now?
The tow truck was already lifting my battered Kia when we stepped outside. Its weather-beaten “Obama 2012” sticker flapped defiantly in the wind. I sighed and climbed into Robert’s slightly nicer Kia.
Robert drove silently, gripping the wheel as if it might slip from his hands. The tension between us thickened the air, pressing on my chest.
“Where are we going?” I finally asked as he passed our apartment.
“We need answers,” he said, his voice steady but firm. “Then I’m filing a restraining order.”
My eyes widened. For years, Robert had avoided involving the police, always insisting it would make things worse. But now, he sounded resolute. Without taking his eyes off the road, he handed me his phone.
“Call my mom. Tell her to meet us at Jimmy’s BBQ tonight. Tell her not to bring Tony. But, if she does, so be it.”
The phone rattled in my hand as my nerves took over.
“Robert, he could kill you.”
“He won’t,” Robert replied, his voice calm—eerily so. “It’s too public. It would damage his image.”
His quiet confidence unsettled me. I glanced at his face, but he remained focused and determined. I unlocked his phone and scrolled to Lucy’s contact, hesitating before pressing the call button.
The line rang twice before she answered, her voice sharp and clipped. “Robert?”
“It’s Bree,” I said, trying to steady my voice. “Robert wants to meet you at Jimmy’s BBQ tonight. He’d prefer Tony stay home.”
She paused, then replied with a saccharine sweetness that made my stomach churn, “Of course, honey. What time?”
I relayed the details and hung up. The phone trembled in my hand. Robert’s jaw tightened as we merged onto the highway.
“Are you sure about this?” I asked, my voice small. “Talking to her has never solved anything.”
“It’s not about solving,” he said quietly. “It’s about taking control.”
I didn’t respond. I stared out the window, watching the streetlights flicker as we sped past.
Throughout our years together, Robert had always been the steady one—the rule-follower, the Boy Scout, the child everyone praised. He grounded me when my emotions ran wild. But now, his resolve made him feel like a stranger, and it terrified me.
Unbidden memories of a different Robert surfaced. Five years ago, I’d found him clutching a shotgun, his face pale and tear-streaked. He hadn’t expected me to be home early that day. He had spent hours planning an escape from an unbearable life.
Now, that same fire burned in his eyes. But this time, it wasn’t fueled by despair—it was survival.
I reached over and touched his arm. The small gesture was my only comfort. For now, I would follow his lead.
I was flooded with memories as we stepped into the grimy barbecue restaurant near his mother’s house. We’d moved away years ago to escape this part of our lives, but walking back into that place reopened everything—dates, rushed meals, takeout runs, and everything in between.
The smell of slow-cooked pulled pork made me question the supposed charm of suburban life.
Lucy sat facing the door in a booth at the back. Robert resembled her in so many ways—from his height to the shape of his chin. The rest of his good looks came from the absent biological father.
Lucy’s black hair was streaked with gray, and her large brown eyes looked even bigger as she seemed to drown in a T-shirt and sweatpants at least three sizes too big.
She was fifteen years younger than my mother but looked twenty years older. I blamed that on her two decades with Tony.
Her eyes lit up with affection when she saw Robert, but when she looked at me, the expression shifted to what it had always been: disgust and contempt.
“Oh, Robert! I’m so glad you called. I just got done at the bakery for the day. How are you?”
Robert sat at a nearby table, abandoning the booth. His mother had picked that seat as a power play. She knew he was uncomfortable not being able to see the door, so she sat in a booth, knowing he’d either have to sit next to her or in front, both of which made him uncomfortable.
Therefore, he did what Liz had always told him to do: change the environment. Lucy grabbed her purse and shuffled over to the table, and I followed suit, sitting in a chair next to Robert, stifling my chuckle.
“I’m good. Although, I wish I didn’t have to have this conversation,” Robert said coldly.
Lucy’s face went from an adoring mother to a blank, angry shell. She took her pack of cigarettes from her purse and set them on the table. If he upset her too much, she would go out to smoke, preventing him from sharing his piece.
“Tony came to my wife’s work today, broke her car windows, and carved an insult into the side of her car.”
She crossed her arms, screwing up her face. “What makes you think that your father did this?”
Robert mirrored her, arms crossed and silent, his brown eyes glaring into her own. If this were Martha and me, it would have turned into a screaming match and tears before the first sentence was out. However, these two were different creatures.
They were beaten and broken beings who took their shared existence in two different ways. Lucy, the adult in this scenario, involved herself with dangerous men, even before Tony, who harmed her children, while Robert had learned that what happened to him was not normal or proper and wanted out.
He’d offered his mother a lifeline to help her escape, but she’d told him he was overreacting.
“If your father felt a need to behave like that, I’m certain your wife would be well aware of how she provoked it.”
I screwed up my face in confusion, feeling rage boiling up. I was ready to yell, “Excuse me?” when Robert placed his hand on mine.
“If by provoking it, you mean her returning your letters to me, I think you forget—she did that for me. Because you, Mother, told me that I wasn’t abused and that I should be thankful Tony raised me.”
Lucy scowled. She wanted Robert to turn on me so badly that she forgot the one thing that mattered—he and I were a team.
She then plastered on a huge smile as the waitress arrived to place food on the table—piles of French fries, pulled pork sandwiches dripping with thick, spicy Kansas City-style BBQ sauce, and a side of pickles.
My mouth watered, completely distracted from our mission, as the waitress left us and Lucy resumed speaking.
“So, what, you want money to fix the car?”
Robert shook his head. “No, I want you to stay out of our lives. We are moving away soon, and you will no longer have access to me. Once we leave here tonight, I will get a restraining order. I will delete your number from my phone. If you write to me, follow me, or bother me online, I will call the police.”
Robert went to grab a handful of French fries, but his mother froze. He had never spoken to her like this.
She laughed awkwardly as she squeezed ketchup onto a plate and said with a smirk, “Robbie. Be serious, Bubbie. Nothing was done out of malice. I love you. I’ve always loved you. These last four years have been hard. I know you have done so much, and I believe you are going to do great things—”
Robert cut her off. “That you will not be privy to. Someday, I will have myown children, and for all they know, you are dead.”
At this, her lip wobbled. “You don’t mean that.”
He took a bite of his sandwich and responded calmly, “I do.”
We ate the rest of the meal in silence. About halfway through, Lucy stormed out of the restaurant to smoke, and we sat there waiting for her to return. She never did.
We drove to the police station hand in hand, and he gave the flash drive to the officer and stated, “I would like to place a restraining order against my parents—Lucy and Tony Rook.”