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I have to, and it’s only a matter of time before I have to deal with Kyle Rasmussen…
    In my own way.
    ***
    Dinner is silent.
    I almost miss the clink and noise
and hustle and bustle of the prison dining hall. At
least that experience wasn’t painfully awkward.
    I inhale the meatloaf and
macaroni and cheese Laticia has prepared and watch as she flashes me a drunken,
slow smile. Her wine glass was full a moment ago and now it’s almost empty.
    The woman likes her wine, that’s
for sure.
    Jordana hasn’t said two words to
me all day. Not since last night when she was giving me the Spanish fucking
Inquisition.
    “How was your first day at work?”
Laticia asks, though her words slur together into one, long word.
    “It’s a job,” I say, shoving a
bite of macaroni noodles onto my fork. “Definitely not a career. Going to look
for something else.”
    “Now you’ll keep this job, son.”
My father’s voice booms. “A job is a job. You don’t just walk away because you don’t
like it.”
    I lower my fork slowly, gathering
every ounce of calm I can muster. “Never said I was quitting, Pops. Going to
continue looking until I find something I’m better suited for.”
    “Think you’re too good to be
changing oil?” He puffs out his chest and fluffs his napkin. The air is thick
with contention tonight. He balls his cool-handed surgeon mitt into a fist.
    “Making ten bucks an hour won’t
allow me to return to school.” I finish my food as quickly as possible. The
sooner I’m done, the sooner I can head upstairs for the night and pretend I’m
anywhere but here for a few hours. “Unless, you know, you wanted to help me out
with that.”
    Laticia turns to my father,
placing her hand over his. “You’d be surprised to learn how much tuition has
spiked in the last five years.”
    “You’re a Blackstone.” He sits up
straight, clearing his throat and ignoring her. “We pull ourselves up by our own
bootstraps. That’s what we do. No sympathy. No favors. No excuses.”
    It’s exactly the kind of response
I expected from him.
    I shove my empty plate away, the
food filling my belly with a pleasant ache. The only pleasant thing I’ve
experienced in far too long.
    “So, since I don’t have wheels
yet, and taking the bus to work is a bit of an inconvenience,” I say, “was
going to ask if I could fix up that old Mustang in the garage? I should be
getting my license renewed this week.”
    I’m not sure where it came from,
but I’m betting it was something my father bought on a whim. Something
to make himself feel better after losing his wife and daughter. It’s the
color of cobalt with white racing stripes down the front. Chrome wheels. Flashy, even for my father.
    I tried starting it the other day
after I saw the keys in the ignition. The thing sounded like it hadn’t seen the
light of day in years.
    Jordana shoots her mother a look
and the room suddenly feels stiff. Laticia’s eyes water, and she brings her
hand over her mouth, fighting tears for a moment before giving up. Her head
hangs.
    I’ve just made the only person in
this house who gives half a shit about me upset.
    My father shoots me a disgusted
look.
    “What?” My brows arch, my gaze
jerking from person to person to person as I try to comprehend what’s going on.
    “Please excuse me.” Latisha
throws her napkin across her plate and runs upstairs.
    I glance at Jordana, silently
pleading for someone to fucking give me an explanation.
    “That was Jerome’s car.” She says
it like I should’ve known.
    “Fuck, I didn’t know.” I place my
hands in the air in protest.
    Fuck.
    Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
    My father finishes his wine in
one gulp, his beady eyes honing in on me from his perch at the head of the
table. “I know you didn’t know, son.”
    I’m dumbfounded by my father’s
temporary moment of mercy. It’s unlike him.
    “She’ll get over it.” And just
like that, he returns to his usual self.
    I watch as he slides out from