Find Her, Keep Her (CFTM Sequel)

Chapter 3

DP: Oh boy. Well, this is news. You sure you can't make it in today? You weren't lying when you said you needed a drop-in.

EK: Yeah. Sorry, man. But I'll tell you everything that goes down tonight at our next session. Promise.

DP: Okay, just remember to keep your cool and fight the impulse to be, well, impulsive.

EK: Easier said than done. But don't worry, if I kill my brother tonight you'll be the first to know.

DP: What?

EK: Kidding. Talk to you tomorrow.

DP: Take care.

 Call Ended at 1:42 PM

***

The second I get back to the house Mom's world famous paella seduces me into running straight for the kitchen. I pass through the perfectly clean living room on the way. 

She's got all of Tanner's favorite DVD's spread out Blockbuster style next to a bowl of Sour Patch Kids and kettle corn just the way he likes. She even busted out his billion-year-old Buzz Lightyear throw blanket just in case he decides to stay for a movie. 

This woman's all love, but sometimes I wish she'd stop trying to baby the both of us and let me and Tanner hash out our shit. Every time I try to talk to her about how pissed off I am at him for what he did, she won't hear it. 

She throws her arms around me, kisses my forehead, and says "you're brothers, don't fight" like that'll solve things, but it doesn't. Time and avoidance only makes shit like this worse. I know that better than anybody in this family.

I don't blame her for not wanting to deal with reality, but one of these days we're gonna have to or the three of us are gonna fall apart.

"Is that you, mijo (baby)? Say something so I know you're not un ladrón (robber)." 

Not only is my mom mildly paranoid, but she looks like a mad scientist whenever she cooks. She's hovering next to the stove with a butcher's knife in her hand, slicing onions with an oversized pair of science goggles on. 

She's smart to do it. I mean, whenever I help her cook I end up looking like I smoked a bowl of weed after I handle the onions. She offers me the goggles every time but Kings don't wear goggles. Not a good look. 

"Hi, mama. What'cha making?" 

I ask this question for two reasons. 

Reason number one: in t-minus thirty seconds, she'll list all the delicious things she's planning on throwing into her seafood extravaganza. 

Reason number two: She'll let me try it early. Ever since I was old enough to hang out in the kitchen without her worrying about me setting myself on fire, she's always let me sneak a taste before anybody else. 

Today shouldn't be any different. 

I walk across the room and rest my head on her shoulder with my mouth open and wait for her to feed me. She swats me away instead. 

"No, not today, Eli. Your brother's not here yet, and it wouldn't be fair." 

"Why? Estoy muerto de hambre, mama. (I'm dying of hunger, mama.)"

She raises her butcher's knife dangerously close to my eyes. 

"You're hungry? I gave you money to go shopping yesterday and what do you buy? Ramen. Eat that if you're hungry."

I wrap my arms around her waist and rock her back and forth. 

"But I want your cooking. I'm moving out in a couple months, and you'll miss feeding me when I'm gone."