Live with Rose?
The possibility shone like a star that had always dangled far out of reach, now dropping so close he could almost touch it. A few years ago, Rose had tried to keep him, failing to return him to Seanna after the weekend. Seanna came for him, and she'd been furious and Gabriel hadn't gone back for a year. After that, Rose didn't try again. But if she could have him, legally . . .
She couldn't. Gabriel discovered that as soon as his mother learned of his chat with the teacher. Her brain might be muddled by dope, but she had a certain cunning intuitiveness, that part of her that was still a Walsh. She knew what Gabriel had in mind, took him aside and explained exactly why Rose would never get custody of him.
"She has a criminal record," Seanna said.
"So do you."
"Doesn't matter. I'm your mom. She's never been married, and she doesn't have kids, which is a huge strike against her, but the criminal record is worse. Plus, she's a dyke."
"She does date men," he'd said. "I've seen them."
"And what about the women? You think they're just really good friends?"
"No, she dates them, too. I just meant that I'm not sure 'dyke' is the correct term. I think it's 'bisexual.'"
She'd cuffed him for that, her eyes narrowing. "
Don't be smart, Gabriel."
One of us has to be, he'd thought.
"You're too smart," she'd grumbled as she walked away. "It's creepy. No wonder you don't have any friends."
Gabriel hadn't taken her word about Rose and custody, no more than he'd believe her if she claimed it was snowing. Every tidbit that came from Seanna's mouth had to be verified. This one, unfortunately, had turned out to be true. Combine "unmarried woman" with "criminal record" and "nonstandard sexuality," and, even in 1991, there was no chance Rose could get custody of him. If child services took him away, he'd never see her again. Never see Cainsville again. That wasn't happening. He decided he could manage the situation.
Managing it meant being particularly careful around Rose, because if she had any idea how bad Seanna had gotten, she'd do something, even if it meant losing him forever. When she'd picked him up that morning, he'd been waiting outside. No need for her to discover Seanna wasn't home. He'd showered, trimmed his hair, worn and packed his best clothes, the ones he kept especially for Rose's place. He'd brought his homework bag, complete with two A-graded tests that he'd "accidentally" let fall out when she could see them. He'd even brought a banana to eat on the drive to Cainsville. See, everything is fine. Not ideal--you know what she is, and there's no hiding that-- but she's doing a perfectly adequate job of raising me.
Rose had noticed the bruise on his face, but when he said he'd made twenty-three dollars off the skirmish, she'd laughed and said as soon as the relationship no longer proved profitable, he needed to show Jay why picking on him was a very bad idea. Which he would, of course.
The mark/client departed, and Rose walked into the kitchen. Gabriel didn't need to look up from the recipe cards to hear her enter. Walshes didn't come in "small." His aunt still towered over him, nearly six feet tall, with the Walshes' usual jet-black hair, light-blue eyes and pale skin. "Black Irish," Rose called it. Or "Gypsy," if she was playing Rosalyn Razvan, as her business card proclaimed her. In build, like him, his aunt was, again, not small. In a novel, she'd be called sturdy, implying she was not thin, but not fat either. Solidly built. Big boned. Whatever adjective worked.
"Picked one?" she asked as she started the kettle for tea.
He handed her a card.
She sighed. "There is nothing festive about chocolate chip cookies, Gabriel."
"You asked what I wanted. There were no restrictions placed on the choice."
"All right, then. I'll decorate them with--"
"No."
"I'll cut them into reindeers and--"
"No."
A quirk of a smile. Year after year, the dialogue never changed. By now, it bordered on absurd. Yet it was tradition, so they stuck to their lines.
"What if I colored the dough green and red and--?"
He handed her a second card. "Sugar cookies. You may make these as well."
Her brows lifted. "May I?"
"If you must."