Protected By the Monster

“After your father died,” she said and looked up sharply. “That doesn’t make it wrong, though. I just didn’t see what they were until they took him away from me.”

“You really loved him,” I said.

“I did.”

“But he was a gangster.”

“He wasn’t like the others,” she said. “He was gentle and funny and kind. You have to remember him, at least a little bit.”

“I remember him picking me up and swinging me around in the backyard,” I said. “I remember him raking leaves in our tiny little yard, and then throwing me into them. Then I remember throwing leaves at him, and he jumped in with me, and we rolled around getting wet with dew.”

“He did that sort of thing all the time,” she said. “Used to take you on long walks around the city. You’d both some home sweating and exhausted, but you loved it.”

“I barely remember that.”

“He was a good father,” she said. “But then when he was gone, everything changed.”

“Didn’t the family try to help?” I asked.

She snorted and put her mug down hard enough to splash coffee out onto the glass top. It looked like it floated in the air, just above the gleaming hardwood floor.

“They pretended to care,” she said. “Offered money, kind words. That sort of thing. But I turned it all down.”

“If you loved him so much, why didn’t you take it?” I asked. “He would’ve wanted that, right?”

She stared at me then shook her head. “You don’t understand, do you?”

“I think I do,” I said. “You thought Dad was different. You really loved him, but when he got killed, you suddenly saw all the ugly, nasty things you’d been trying to ignore. Is that it?”

“No,” she said, jaw tense. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Clair. This was all a long time ago.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I wish I had gotten to know Dad, I really do. He sounds like he was pretty great.”

She looked away and shook her head. “I know what you’re thinking. If he was so great, why do I hate the mafia so much? But you didn’t see the late nights. You didn’t see him coming home covered in blood, or coming home too drunk to stand. He was faithful, he was gentle, but the life wasn’t easy on any of us, it wasn’t kind or fun or smart. And I don’t want that for you, do you understand? I want you to get out while you can.”

I smiled at her and for the first time in my life, I felt like I could see her, could actually see her.

It’s hard to see a parent. They’re always something bigger, something else, something other. They’re not a person, but a myth.

In that moment, I thought I could see the woman my mother used to be, the woman that married my father and loved him so much that when he died, she began to hate everything around her, began to hate the things that took him away from her.

I stood up, walked over to her, and sat down on the couch. I leaned over and gave her a hug. She hugged me back, a little tentative, but she was still my mom. I hugged her hard then let her go.

“I love you, Mom,” I said. “I’m sorry I dragged you to this place. I know it’s hard, being around these guys again.”

“I feel bad for your uncle, is all,” she said, grinning. “I’m going to give him hell. I know Luciano is a god around here, but I’m not going to walk on eggshells for him.”

“Just don’t get yourself killed.”

She snorted. “Like they’d hurt me,” she said. “You’re too useful to them right now.”

I stood up and walked to the door. She tracked me with her eyes, and I couldn’t tell what she was thinking. I paused with my hand on the doorknob, turning back, a smile forced onto my face. She cocked her head, eyes sharp and pleading, but I thought we were speaking two very different languages.

“I’ll check in on you later,” I said.

“Please do,” she said. “Let me know you’re still alive.”

“Don’t worry. Remember, I’m the valuable one.”

She didn’t smile as I turned away, opened the door, and stepped into the hall.

The door shut behind me with a gentle click.

I leaned my back against it, turned my head up, stared at the ceiling.

My mother loved my father, loved him so much that it broke her when he died. All those years she told me the mafia was wrong, they were all evil, they were all bastards, and in a lot of ways she was right.

But she also neglected to tell me that some of them were just people, some of them weren’t monsters at all, some of them were men worth being with. If that weren’t true, she never would’ve married my father at all.