We're silent on the road home. Lena tries to talk once or twice, asking if I'm okay, if my lip hurts. I just shrug. It's not the worse pain I've ever been in; not by a mile. I don't tell her that. Pity is useless.
When we pull into the driveway, it takes me a minute to process. The house is nice. Really nice. It's not enormous or anything, but it's big, and it actually has a yard, and a huge tree with a swing on it.
Damn. It's like something hits me in the chest all over again. Jude would love that swing.
Lena guides me in to the kitchen and I sit at the table as she takes a lasagna out of the freezer and sticks it in the oven. I think it might be a real one. Like, the kind that isn't frozen out of a box. She puts a gallon of milk out on the table and I have to keep myself from rolling my eyes. How very wholesome. Lena sticks her head out of the kitchen and calls to her kids to come set the table. I should probably offer to help.
I don't.
Two Hispanic teenagers come in. They look about my age. Clearly siblings. The girl's wearing jewelry and a shirt with frilly sleeves. She's tossing a salad, but keeps looking sideways at me like I'm a potentially dangerous animal who decided to wander out of the zoo and come sit at her kitchen table. Clearly we're going to be best friends.
The boy is dressed kind of normal, and seems like he might be okay. Lena tells me that they were in the foster system too, but that they came to live with her 8 years ago and were adopted 5 years ago. Lena seems to think that I'll somehow find that information really deep and meaningful, but I can do the math. Most kids are adopted really fast if they're under age 6. They probably went in after that, so they most likely spent about two years in the foster system.
They aren't even close to my league.
At least the boy seems kind of normal. When his mom tells me all this he just says, "The foster system sucks."
True.
I look around and notice the phone on the counter. I'm trying to figure out how best to swipe it when Jesus asks me, "What happened to your face? You get in a fight?"
Nice. Way to be subtle, kid. I have no intention of answering so I'm glad when Lena steps in and says "Callie's kind of had a rough day so how about we cool it with the third degree?"
I've had enough. "Where's the bathroom?"
Lena directs me and as I walk into the next room I can hear Mariana ask, "So…where'd she come from?"
I wonder what Lena will tell her. The truth, probably. They seem kind of touchy-feely that way. But whatever. I've got bigger problems. Though I would like to see the look on that girl's face when she hears I've been in Juvie. I could use a laugh.
I walk into the bathroom, and turn on the water. The milk. The lasagna. I wonder what Jude is eating tonight. Are they feeding him? Is he hungry? He's always hungry, but I know he tries not to eat too much. He's never been allowed to eat as much as he wants. I try to give him some of my food, but now that I'm not there…
It's too much. The beating, the new house, the happy family, the thought of Jude—tears start streaming down my face and I turn up the water and press my hand to my mouth to muffle the sounds of my crying. I try to stop it but the tears keep coming, fast and hot, and my nose is running, and I know I only have seconds before they wonder why the sink has been running so long. I take a deep breath and stitch myself back together, pulling my emotions in, willing them to be replaced by indifference, boredom, hostility, anything. I look at myself in the mirror, hating my weakness, and briskly splash some water under my eyes to wipe away the tears. I take a deep breath and head back into the warmth of a kitchen that somehow makes me feel even colder.