Mom’s face said everything. First shock, then confusion morphing into astonishment. For a second, I think, Dad thought it had worked. He must have misread her disorientation as some kind of elation at seeing us together, a family. He loosened his grip on me and smiled. But I knew better. We were screwed.
Mom threw her keys across the room. She’d probably aimed at him but the keys caught me on the shoulder. “What the fuck,” she said.
I stood to move away from him. “He showed up at school.”
It was like she didn’t hear me. She pointed at Dixie. “What did I tell you?”
Dixie sprang up. Mom put her hand out, stopping her from getting too close.
“You said you wouldn’t stop me from seeing him,” Dixie said, pleading.
“I said keep your distance.”
Dad, confused, looked at Dixie. “You told her?” Dixie’s face had gone red; now Mom and Dad were both mad at her and she was going to cry. “Dix? I asked if you told her.”
“Leave her alone, Russ,” Mom said.
Tears spilled onto Dixie’s cheeks and, despite everything, I felt bad for her. Dad got up, too, and took a few steps.
“Don’t come near me,” Mom said. “Asshole.”
“Oh, I’m an asshole, right. I forgot. You’re great and I’m an asshole.” He gestured toward the kitchen. “Go look in the fridge, Adri. Go look in the cupboards.”
I watched her. I wished she wasn’t wearing such a short skirt. I wished she wasn’t wearing such a low top. I wished she didn’t have so many tattoos and such heavy eyeliner.
But she’s here. That’s what I told myself that moment, like I had a lot of other times when I needed to believe that in itself could be enough.
“So, what, you bought some food?” Mom said. “What happens when that’s gone? Where’s the four hundred dollars a month you’re supposed to be sending me? Where’s that?”
“Here, Dree. Look.” He pulled a wad of cash out of his pocket and held it out.
Mom laughed. “Sure. Okay.” She let her purse fall to the floor and kicked off her boots. She ignored Dad’s outstretched hand and went to the kitchen. “Chocolate cake,” she said. “Fancy.”
“Thanks a lot, Dix,” Dad said. “I thought you had my back.”
Dixie stared at the floor. My impulse was to let her suffer—maybe the truth about who Dad was would sink in. But I was more on her side than his. “It wouldn’t matter if Dixie told or not,” I said to him. “Mom doesn’t want you here. That’s not Dixie’s fault.”
She glanced up at me and brushed a tear away.
“That’s not the point,” Dad said. “Trust is the point.”
Trust. That word again, and him of all people using it.
Dixie went to him and tugged his arm. “Mom found the letter in the mail before I did. That’s the only reason.”
“She opened it?”
“No, but—”
“Genius, Russ,” Mom called from the kitchen where she was opening and closing cupboards. “You want to keep some secret from me and you mail it right to my house.”
“You didn’t have to tell her what it said,” Dad told Dixie. He wasn’t angry like raging or anything, that wasn’t his style. More trying to make her feel bad, because he knew it worked. He said, quietly and with a glance toward Mom, “I just have to know if I can trust you. It’s important.”
“You can,” Dixie said. She’d stopped crying.
“Good, because we should be in this together. The club and everything, I want your help.” He smiled at me. “Yours, too, if you want.” The smile didn’t fool me into thinking it made any difference to him whether he had my help or not.
Mom came back over, her phone in her hand. “I hate to interrupt your epic ideas about ‘the club,’ but you need to leave before I call the cops.”
“Adri,” he said, “take this money, okay? I’ll leave. Take this money and I’ll get you more. I’ll pay all of the support back.”
She smiled a fuck-you kind of smile. “No thanks.”
“Mom,” I said. That would be a lot. Even the amount in his hand was a few hundred, maybe more.
He extended his hand to me. “Gem. You take it.”
I reached for it and Mom grabbed my arm. “Don’t.”
“Mom, it’s—”
“Trust me, Gem, that money didn’t come from anywhere good.” She pointed at Dixie. “You’re not taking it, either. If you do, I’ll find it and burn it. I’m serious.”
Dad shook his head and said to Dixie, “Your mom is still so . . . Shouldn’t surprise me.” He put the money back in his pocket. “Guess that’s my cue to leave.”
“You’re catching on.” Mom went to the door and held it open for him. He walked right through without saying good-bye to Dixie or me. Something about him seemed different as he left, as if he was older than he’d been when he’d gotten there, or maybe just defeated.
As soon as the door closed, Mom looked from Dixie to me and said, “So. You just let him right into our house. You ate his food.”
“He—”
“Like that whole conversation we had never happened.” She gestured with her head toward Dixie but kept her eyes on me. “I know she has no backbone when it comes to him, but I expected different from you. You’re going to help me clean the kitchen.”
“I cleaned it already.”
She breathed out a short laugh. “That’s not how I mean. Dixie, go to bed.”
Dixie opened her mouth, closed it, and stomped off to our room.
“Come on,” Mom said to me.
I followed her. She pulled a roll of garbage bags out from under the sink and handed me one. “Hold this open for me. We’ll start with what’s in the fridge.”
That’s when I understood what she’d meant by “clean the kitchen.”
“Mom,” I said, trying not to let panic creep into my voice. “Let’s just keep it. He owes us.”
“You don’t get it.” She threw the cheese and the sandwich meat into the bag. The bread. The apples.
I did get it. How him turning up and buying food and trying to give us handfuls of cash was only a different way of lying to us. Whatever his intention, it wasn’t real and it wasn’t love. But the food, the money, those were real and we needed them. In that moment, though, I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t explain that I did understand but also that we should still keep everything. I couldn’t, and I shouldn’t have had to.
She scraped the leftover macaroni and cheese out of the pot, the meat loaf out of the pan. I stood there with the garbage bag trying to think of ways to talk her out of it that wouldn’t make her mad. Like, Why don’t we go ahead and save the canned food for an emergency? Or, Maybe you’ll change your mind in the morning. She should sleep on it, I could say.
But it was all garbage to her and she wouldn’t stop until we were back to nothing.
She filled the bag until it was too heavy to hold. “Get me another one,” she said. I didn’t move. “Fine,” she said, “I’ll get it myself.” First, though, she took the full bag and opened the back door. I heard it slide down the chute and crash into the big garbage can at the bottom.
I found some words. “You don’t have to eat any of it, Mom. I’ll . . . I’ll take it to a food bank or something tomorrow, okay? We could give it to Mrs. Wu, leave it outside her door.” I could fit a lot of cans under my bed.