“Well technically,you’rethe one that left, but let’s not get lost in the semantics right now.” She grins.
“Okay, now get in the shower while I make us some food.”
“You’re not going to join me?” she asks, dumbfounded.
“No sweet cheeks. We’re doing showers, food, and then having the conversation of the century. No distractions. Once it’s all on the table, and you decide if we’re all in, then and only then, will we get to the love making part.”
“Sheesh. Tough crowd. Fine, but I need two favors first.”
“Okay.” I squint at her.
“First, I need you to help me out of this corseted top.”
“Alright, that I can do.” I smile as I walk up to her.
“And second, you need to look away once the dress gets loose enough because I’m pretty sure I look like a stuffed sausage under all this.” She gestures all over her upper body.
My woman is weird, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.
* * *
We’re now both showered, fed, and in sweats sitting on my couch.
Amelia made us some tea, and I feel like I’m going to need to add whisky to mine by the way my right knee keepings bouncing.
Amelia nestles closer to me and places her hands on my leg to stop me from shaking the couch. “It’s okay baby. Whenever you’re ready. I’m here to listen, not judge.”
I close my eyes and take a deep breath. I’ll start with what she already knows. “So, I’m guessing you know by now that my dad was incarcerated. So technically, he didn’t walk out on us, he was in prison.”
That’s the first time I’ve ever said that sentence out loud.
I feel Amelia take hold of my hands, and instantly feel better, so I continue. “It was tough being the kid at school whose dad was locked up on a murder charge, even if he didn’t actually commit the crime. The bullying got really bad. I was in a fist fight at least once a day. I only lasted one month in school after he went to prison, when my mom pulled me out, and moved us to New York. She wanted us to have a fresh start. She also struggled with being the wife of a convicted felon, and she knew she was one shift away from being fired due to the hospital gossip.”
“Evan, I’m so sorry. That must have been such a hard time for you and your mom. I had no idea you guys struggled so badly before we met you. But it makes sense,” she says.
“Why do you say that?”
“You and your mom are some of the most resilient people I know. I thought it had to do with her being a single mom in the city, and you having to grow up quickly to help support her, but now I see it was all of that and much more. You’re a fighter baby.” She kisses the back of my hand and my heart sinks with guilt, the story isn’t over.
I take another deep breath. “My dad never stopped sending me letters. During my teen years I was angry, so I never took his calls, and after a while, he got the hint, but he never stopped writing to me. Over the summer, he sent me one that said he'd been out of prison for a few months, and had moved to the city. Left his contact details and asked if we could meet. It was the first letter I responded to. After a few awkward phone calls, we agreed to meet in person, and he explained why he got involved in illegal activities.”
I look over to Amelia and her eyes are soft with sympathy, so I keep going. “Apparently, money was tight and he had a few neighborhood friends who made easy money by making simple drop offs.”
“Drop offs? I’m assuming that’s lingo for drugs and not laundry?”
“You would be correct. My dad made a handful of drop offs without a hitch, which helped our financial situation immensely. So when his friend asked him to drive him to a drop off, my dad said yes. Once there, he realized he was actually the getaway driver, and his pals were robbing a pawn shop. He heard a gun go off, and his instinct was to drive off as soon as his friends got in the car. He says that if he had ran off and called an ambulance or the cops, then his sentence would have been reduced. But because of his split second decision, the judge thought he had a hand in a man’s death, and therefore they all got the same sentence.”
“Wow,” is all Amelia can say to that information overload.
“Yeah. The fucked up part is that growing up, I always promised myself that I would never be like him. That I would pave my own way in life, even if that meant I had to struggle a little.” I take a sip of tea. “But once he told me his story, I realized that I had done the exact opposite. I was no better than my dad. In fact, we’re both guilty of the same crime.”
No turning back now.
“Wait, what are you saying? You were a getaway driver in a crime?” Amelia asks, stunned.
I give her a tight smile. “No. Not quite as dramatic as my dad’s story, but its consequences are just as bad.”
Amelia cups my face in her hands. “Evan, spit it out. No more beating around the bush. I’m not going anywhere. We will figure this out together. And if you question how serious I mean it, you’re gonna have a very pissed off Dominican woman—who got waxed in ungodly places might I add—lighting your shit on fire.” A small smile escapes her lips as she adorably tries to put the fear of God in me.
