And how could I answer her? That my life was my own to live? Obviously, that wasn’t true. I was reminded of my ten-year sentence every time I looked down at my ring finger.
I also couldn’t tell her the truth. That the only reason I’d deterred from the medical career path she laid out for me was because I was trying to keep her, Dad, and Byron safe from the enemy she didn’t know dad had made. That would scare her more than it would vindicate me.
So I accepted that she would never acknowledge the birthday gifts she received in the mail from me or even say “thank you” for the flowers I sent on Mother’s Day.
Dad did, though. He seemed to have taken my new career path in stride. He always acknowledged the birthday gift cards and the Father’s Day messages I sent him with short emails. Usually, a week or two after he received them. But still, it was always nice to get a “Thanks for the gift card, sweet pea” and a “Praying and hoping everything’s okay with you.”
I never answered those texts truthfully. Never told him that things weren’t okay with me.
That they hadn’t been okay since that morning when his hand bit into the upper flesh of my arm as he hissed at me that I couldn’t run after Victor.
At least Byron was still talking to me fairly regularly. After I told him about my experimental animation project, he teased me about becoming a hippie and insisted that I should make a cop show animation.
“There are enough cop dramas on TV,” I answered him. Plus, from what I’d gleaned from Byron’s life, being a cop wasn’t that interesting when you took out all the non-existent technology and abuses of power that were often glorified on TV.
Unlike my father, Byron had no interest in undercover work. He liked riding a desk between appearances as his department’s public-facing hard of hearing spokesperson. He also served as a statewide emergency ASL translator. And he’d been named to the New Jersey Police Officer LGBTQ+ Liaison Committee.
My little brother was all grown up now and absolutely living his truth. The only thing that would make me prouder of him is if he calmed down that constantly revolving door of men and women he called a love life.
Actually, if I were going to do a cop animation, it would probably be a settling-down romance featuring a charming lead like Byron.
But I told my brother out loud, “I really love the idea of turning this project into a longer piece. The history that went into making the two people with the love story we’ve always taken for granted is fascinating. I mean, slavery, dynasties, two major civil wars that still define who their countries are—that’s totally worth exploring for another three years of school.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” I couldn’t see Byron, but it sounded like he was rolling his eyes. “My cop show would be way more interesting.”
So no, Byron wasn’t the most encouraging person I could’ve called. That probably would’ve been Lena, who I hadn’t spoken to in years.
But I was grateful to have someone from my old life to talk to at all. I was also grateful to have a project goal that I could complete over the last three years of my marriage sentence.
It was almost beginning to feel as if I’d won. Almost…
“Good idea. I was searching for other things to take away from you.”
Victor’s words from our second anniversary continued to haunt me.
The morning of our seventh anniversary, I woke up and held my breath. I’d transferred another grip of money from the account he’d set up for me. And I was sure this would be the time that Victor would make good on his threat to take away the one thing I truly loved.
But Victor didn’t show up that morning. Or that afternoon. Or even while I was eating dinner. I hadn’t gotten the date wrong. I checked and double-checked and even asked the Amazon device I bought myself as a second graduation gift to make sure it was May 25th.
It got so late that I put on pajamas and crawled into bed.
Maybe he’d gotten caught up with business.
Maybe he’d gotten hurt. He was a Chinese gangster, after all, no matter how many expensive business suits he put on over it.
Or maybe he’d found somebody else. Somebody permanent.
I poked at that last maybe, wanting it to bring me solace. If Victor were booed up, then this would be over. The two guards who took turns sitting outside the house and driving me to school would still be there, but I’d be free of Victor.
Which was what I wanted.
Right? I asked the dark.
Right? I asked my heart.
Right? I asked my restless body.
The dark didn’t answer. And my heart was beating so fast and loud, I couldn’t hear anything it was trying to say to me.
