Chapter 19
Amy dropped her bag by the door and flopped onto the couch, her legs dangling over the armrest, her phone already in her hand. The afternoon light filtered through the kitchen window, casting long shadows across the floor. Stella stood at the stove, stirring a pot of something that smelled like garlic and tomatoes.
"You're home early," Stella said without turning around.
"Last class got canceled, the Professor didn't show up." Amy scrolled through her phone, her thumb moving lazily. "I should've stayed in bed."
"You should've been in school."
"I was in school. I just left early." Amy tossed her phone onto her stomach and stared at the ceiling. "What are you making?"
"Stew. Your brother's been running around doing god knows what. He needs a real meal."
Amy snorted. "Elijah? Running around? He barely runs to catch the bus."
Stella glanced back at her daughter. "He's been different lately. You noticed?"
Amy picked her phone up again, pretending to scroll. "He has a car now. Did he tell you?"
"A car?" Stella turned from the stove, her hand still holding the wooden spoon. "What car?"
"Black one, Looks new." Amy kept her eyes on her phone. "He picked me up from the train station in it."
Stella was quiet for a moment. Then she turned back to the stove. "He didn't mention it."
"He's been busy." Amy set her phone down and sat up, pulling her legs underneath her. "Kai's been around more. They're doing something together."
"Kai's always been around."
"More than usual." Amy watched her mother's back. The spoon moved slower now, stirring without purpose. "You worried?"
Stella didn't answer right away. She added something to the pot—a pinch of salt, maybe, or pepper—and stirred it in. "He's twenty years old. He can have a car if he wants one."
"That's not what I asked."
Stella turned off the stove and faced her daughter. The kitchen was small, the distance between them only a few feet, but it felt closer somehow. "I'm not worried about the car. I'm worried about what comes with it."
Amy waited.
"Your father," Stella said, and the name hung in the air between them, "he had a car when I met him, a Nice car and money in his pocket. Friends who knew people." She wiped her hands on a towel, slow, deliberate. "He was generous. Charming. Always had a plan."
Amy didn't say anything.
"I'm not saying Elijah is his father. He's not. He's a good boy. He's always been a good boy." Stella folded the towel and set it on the counter. "But good boys don't get cars overnight. Not in this city."
Amy picked at a thread on her sleeve. "He's not Dad."
"No. He's not." Stella moved to the couch, sat down beside her daughter. The cushions sagged under their weight. "He's something else. I just don't know what yet."
Amy leaned her head against her mother's shoulder. "He's still Elijah. He still leaves his shoes in the hallway. He still forgets to do the dishes. He still calls me names when I steal his food."
Stella smiled. "He calls you names because you eat everything."
"Everything good. I leave the vegetables."
"You leave the vegetables because you don't eat vegetables."
Amy laughed, the sound bright in the small house. "Vegetables are suspicious. You never know what they're hiding."
Stella wrapped an arm around her daughter, pulling her closer. "You need to eat vegetables. And you need to tell me about school."
"School is school. Classes are boring and The food is bad. The chairs hurt my back."
"Boys?"
Amy's head lifted. "What about boys?"
Stella looked at her daughter, one eyebrow raised. "You're eighteen. You have a face that stops traffic. Don't tell me there aren't boys."
Amy groaned and let her head fall back against the couch. "There are boys."
"And?"
"And nothing. They're boys. They talk loud, they laugh at their own jokes, they think wearing cologne is a personality." She crossed her arms. "One of them followed me to the train station yesterday. Walked with me the whole way, talking about his father's business, how much money they make, how he's going to take over one day."
Stella's expression didn't change. "What did you say?"
"I said my brother would break his legs if he kept following me."
Stella laughed, the sound warm and unexpected. "You did not."
"I did." Amy was grinning now. "He asked if I was serious. I said Elijah was a gang leader of one of those top tier gangs. He walked faster after that."
Stella's smile, "That's funny, and he bought that."
"Yeah, he was all scared and stressed" Amy waved her hand like it was nothing,
"I worked, He watched you, I worried about money. He worried about me and I stayed quiet about your father. He stayed quiet about everything." Stella shook her head. "He's been carrying me since he was old enough to understand what carrying meant."
Amy didn't know what to say to that. She leaned against her mother again, felt the warmth of her, the steadiness.
"Don't do what I did," Stella said, her voice softer now. "Don't give yourself to someone who hasn't earned it. Don't let a man touch you because he says pretty words and buys you things."
"I'm not."
"You will be tempted. You will meet someone who makes you feel like you're the only person in the world. And he will want things. And if you give them too early, before he's proven himself, he will take what you give and leave when it's not enough anymore."
Amy's hands stilled on her sleeve. "You're talking about Dad."
"I'm talking about men." Stella's arm tightened around her daughter. "They will tell you they love you. They will tell you they'll never leave. And some of them mean it. But the ones who mean it will wait. The ones who mean it will prove it. Don't let anyone take what you're not ready to give. Not because it's wrong, but because you deserve someone who stays."
Amy didn't answer. She just sat there, her head on her mother's shoulder, the kitchen warm around them.
Stella let the silence sit for a moment, then shifted. "Enough of that. Tell me Something funny."
Amy thought for a moment. "There's a teacher at school who wears the same tie every day. Same pattern, same color. The students have a betting pool on whether he owns multiple or just never washes it."
"That's disgusting."
"The pool is up to forty dollars."
Stella laughed again, shaking her head. "You're not betting on a teacher's hygiene."
"I'm not. I'm just observing." Amy grinned. "For science."
"Science."
"Sociology. It's important to study how people live."
Stella poked her daughter's side. "You're terrible."
"You made me this way."
The front door opened.
Both of them turned toward the sound. Through the kitchen window, they could see the black car pulling into the driveway, the tinted windows gleaming in the afternoon sun. The engine cut off, and a moment later, Elijah stepped out.
Stella's face changed. Something soft, something relieved. She stood up from the couch, wiping her hands on her jeans, already moving toward the kitchen.
"I need to finish cooking," she said, but her voice was lighter now, the worry from before tucked away somewhere Elijah wouldn't see.
Amy watched her mother move back to the stove, watched her pick up the wooden spoon like it was the most important thing in the world. She heard Elijah's footsteps on the path, heard the front door open, heard his voice call out that he was home.
Amy picked up her phone and scrolled through nothing, a smile on her face that she didn't try to hide.
In the kitchen, Stella stirred the pot and waited for her son to walk through the door.