Like my thoughts, my ceiling fan spun uncontrollably above me as I lay flat on my back, following its turn cycle. What day was it again? Tuesday? Wednesday? Damnit, I wasn't sure anymore. I'd been losing track. And with the week breezing by so fast, I didn't think I'd ever catch up. My anxiety was kicking my ass again.
Beside me, my phone vibrated for the third time this evening. Probably Patty texting me again. She insisted that I keep her in the loop on Emerald's case, then proceeded to give me her phone number. I wasn't against it. But I was going to threaten to block her if she didn't stop blowing up my phone.
"Dinner's ready!" Junior poked his head in my room.
"Okay!" I sat up, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed. Then, I followed him out the door. On cue, a strong aroma of chicken alfredo and cheesy garlic bread graced my nose, from downstairs. I breathed in the fresh scent, my mouth watering at the thought of eating my first meal of the day. Not that my mother needed to know it was.
When we entered the kitchen, my mother's spine stuck out from her back as she stood hunched over the counter, stirring the last of the alfredo together in a large bowl. A playlist of 90's RnB music flowed from my mother's Alexa speaker; a list she'd put together a few months ago to keep herself motivated whenever she was busy.
I walked up to her shoulder, peeking inside the bowl. "Mhm, that smells good."
She smiled, shooing me off. "Both of you make sure you wash your hands!" Laughing, I backed away, and jogged towards the sink. Her smile was permanent on her face. I hadn't seen my mother smile like that in months. It did things to me. Good things that I craved to feel more.
Out of courtesy of missing dinner last night, I vowed to come straight home after school, and spend time with both of them. Part of me may have also been putting off that phone call with my father. But I'd tackle one issue at a time. Baby steps, as the saying went.
"Mom, what's this?" There was a stack of papers scattered across the kitchen table. I caught sight of the first few words on the top reading, "IN THE FAMILY COURT OF. . .", before she hurried over, gathering them together.
"Oh, it's just some paperwork I need to fill out and send to my lawyer." She rushed to the cabinets with the papers still in hand. I watched her grab a few plates and forks as she began fixing our food. She sat Junior's plate on the other side of the table in front of him, then replaced the papers that were in front of me with a plate, pushing my food towards me.
"Are those the custody papers? Is that what was in that yellow envelope that day? The one I brought in from the mailbox?" I moved my chicken alfredo around, peeking up at her. Hesitation masked her face, and she didn't answer.
"Hey mom, you know you don't have to keep hiding everything from me, right? I'm sixteen. Not exactly a kid." Sighing, I lowered my voice. "I know you guys fight about me all the time. I can hear you two on the phone at night sometimes . . . and when he was here last time."
"Oh. Right." She lowered her head, a soft laugh falling from her mouth. Her body sunk into the seat next to mine, defeated. "I forget my babies are all grown up now. . ." Junior and I shared a distant look, both unwilling to address the elephant in the room first.
My mother proceeded with a sigh, "This has just been a very tough time. I'm sorry you and Junior have to be dragged into this mess. Really, Tyler." Every day she found something else to sigh about. She wouldn't ever admit it aloud to us, but she was clearly tired—tired from all the arguing, all the fussing, and most importantly, trying not to give up in this battle. I was tired.
"I know. I'm sorry too. Junior has to suffer because of me." I looked down at my plate.
"Tyler, don't say that. Don't you ever blame yourself for this." She shook her head.
I sat back in my chair, crossing my arms. "But it's not like you can deny I'm involved."
"Tyler. . ." There she was, sighing again.
"Is dad taking us away? Are we going to live with his new family?" Junior spoke up. Our eyes shifted to the side, handling his question with extreme caution. It seemed we both forgot he could hear our entire conversation. Based on the way his eyebrows were knitted close together, I could only imagine how serious and confused he was.
"Not if I have a say in it." She nudged his side playfully.
"Oh. Good. Our new siblings are rude and mean. They don't like to share either." Junior scowled. "Besides, I'd miss you. You're my only mom."
Junior's comment brought a smile to my face. And if I was smiling, my mom had to be smiling too. She might've been jumping for joy on the inside. When I looked at her, her eyes were glistening to the point we could see the tears streaming in them already. But, before they could fall, she used the back of her hand to wipe under her eyes.
"When do you go back to court?" I asked.
She picked at her food, sniffling. "Your father and I have to see the judge on the first of next month. Hopefully, they'll come to a decision before he goes batshit crazy."
"I don't understand him. . ." I stabbed my chicken alfredo with my fork.
"What do you mean?" she asked.
"I just"—pausing, I shut my eyes, and shook my head—"why now?"
That was something I'd asked myself many times before.
Were Junior and I just pawns? Was my father actually concerned for our well-being? Sometimes it was hard to tell whether his love for us was true or not. He didn't talk to us like he used to so his intentions had never been clear to me. One thing I knew for sure though, pure intentions or not, taking us away from our mother would hit her where it hurt the most.
For all I knew, that could have been his goal all-along. Using us as an excuse to hurt our mother in every imaginable way would have been easier after all. We were precious to her. Practically all she had left to live for. Perhaps I was being too cruel, thinking of my father in such a vicious light. He wasn't always like this.
"Tyler, if I had an answer for that, I'd tell you." Her smile weakened. "That's something you'd have to ask him yourself. I'm not going to stop you guys from talking to him."
"I know," was my short reply. I wasn't sure if I was ready for that conversation though.
"Anyways, that's enough. We're going to have some fun tonight! Are you ready boys!?"
"Fun?" asked Junior and I.
"Yes, I've got some games!" she clapped her hands with a cheer.
I groaned, "Please don't tell me you bought another Monopoly board. I don't think I can handle another five hours of that all night." Hopefully, my instincts were wrong.
"No, but I did buy. . ." Her tone faltered as she stood from her seat, running to the living room. She ran back into the kitchen with a box in hand. Instead of the large red rectangular shaped box I expected, there was a square shaped box, drowning in dark scenery. "Clue!"
"Yes!" Junior cheered. "Let's play for snacks! Can we?"
She laughed. "We can play for anything you want. The prize is on me when I get home from the salon tomorrow! How about it, are you in Tyler?"
I shrugged. "Sure, how do you play?"
"Here, let's open it up. The rules are in the box." I caught the box as she threw it at me. After fighting with the plastic, I ripped it open, searching for the thin pamphlet containing the rules. As I read through every rule, item, and how-to mentioned under the instructions, there was one specific thing I couldn't stop myself from repeating in my head.
In the box, there were different types of cards. One of the card sections was a mix of action cards. And on the top, it said All snoop. It brought me back to the mystery figure snooping around Iris and Emerald's home. But that wasn't all. Snooping involved a lot of things. Like phones, for instance. Emerald didn't have a phone. Not on her, at least.
I didn't even see a phone with her in any of my visions so far. Could her mother have been strict enough not to allow her with a phone? I didn't think so. How would she have stayed in contact with her or anyone else? Michael included. She must have talked to him at home somehow. Unless she texted him through social media. Maybe on a laptop or whatever.
Whatever the case—whether she used a phone or she used a laptop—there may have been a list somewhere in either of those items with all her most recent conversations and contacts. Then maybe, just maybe, that'd give me an idea of just how many people Emerald talked to. The only problem was finding a way to slip that into my next conversation with Christian without fail.