Ma claims she’s trying to teach us proper etiquette, but I have no idea why I’d need to know how to eat with anything other than a dinner fork. Still, Pop would have my ass if I kicked up a fuss, and of course, there’s no escaping that shit. I honestly don’t mind, but I think as a self-respecting eighteen-year-old, I would be sus as fuck if I didn’t at least grumble a bit.
Ma and Pop were smiling at each other while their offspring ran their mouths a mile a minute about the party of the century they think their birthday is going to be. All the while, Sheila was filling plates and giving advice, more like handing out orders, but who am I to say? Happy, that’s what the room felt like. I sometimes wish I could relax, let my guard down, be a real part of it all, but something inside always holds me back.
“You two ready?” They’d been playing on their phones, heads bent together, which never bodes well for anybody.
“Don’t step one foot out of this house without clearing those plates.” Sheila’s spatula was back in play. And the whining began.
“But it’s too much for us to eat at once. We have to watch out weight remember?” Rosa put on her Oscar-worthy three-year-old bratty toddler act. No one ever cleans their plate because she always gives us too much but whatever. We made our escape leaving Pop and Ma to deal with Sheila, who’d already turned her attention to them before we even made it out of the kitchen. “I told you two about your PDA. Draco unhand that woman so she could drink her coffee at least.”
The sound of the two of them arguing playfully followed me out the door, and that feeling of familial warmth did its best to seep into my bones but was once again left out in the cold. I stepped outside into the cool New England morning and inhaled the scent of Fall.
I looked around at all the beauty surrounding us, the trees that were now changing colors, and the garden that was changing from the blossoms of spring and summer to the hardier fare of autumn. It never ceases to amaze me how completely separate this all seems from the other side of our life. Here, we’re the premier family in the neighborhood. The one everyone talks about with respect and admiration.
Pop is seen as a doting family man who takes care of his own, while just a few hundred miles away, his name is feared and revered. I don’t see how no one has ever uncovered the truth, but it’s been years, and I’ve never heard so much as a peep about it. I myself learned most of what I know from Gramps.
When I was younger, when he first got sick, he’d sometimes ramble on about shit I’d only suspected but never had any proof of. At first, I thought he was suffering from dementia or some other ailment that was messing with his mind. He’d slip into one of these diatribes and back to cognizance on an almost daily basis.
It took me a minute to realize he was doing it purposely. He wanted his only grandson to know the truth, and I guess to make the choice of whether to stay in the life or go the other way. Uncle Garrett and his wife are child-free, not by choice; my aunt can’t have kids. They claim not to mind and treat my sisters, and I like their own, which I guess is good enough for them.
So, I’m the only son of my generation. Of course, we have distant relatives on Gramps’ and grandma’s side, blood relatives. But the one and only time I brought it up, letting Gramps know that I knew what he was up to, I’ll never forget what he said. Since his son had claimed me, I was now his as well, and I was to never mention the blood thing again, especially not around my mom.
I didn’t get that last part for a long time, not until I got older. I think the whole family thinks that Ma has put the past behind her and moved on, but that’s a different story for another time. As to the life we live here and the one back in New York, it’s like night and day.
Pop has been cleaning up the family business since before I was born; though things were nowhere near what they used to be by then, it was still pretty rough. I’m not sure how no one sees that things are even worst now, that with technology, all you need is a little planning to take out the enemy without leaving a trace.
So, though Gramps’ stories of taking down the enemy in the middle of the street in broad daylight, or the tit for tat that’s known to run rampant in the life and all the other shit he used to get up to seems exciting, I think I found a better way. In fact, I know I have. No one would ever suspect me of anything because I never show my hand. Most of my plans are in my head, and no search engine would ever alert the authorities to my hand in play.