Page 10 of Birdy

“Why are we having this conversation again?” I groan, scrubbing a hand down my face.

“Because you don’t listen! How many times do I have to tell youquees un delincuente!” He’s a delinquent.“Are you trying to get into trouble again?”

My eyes roll to the heavens and back at the juvenile word. “He’s not fifteen, Ma. He’s a grown-ass man.”

“Ah si, pero esta lleno de tatuajes y navegando la calles con drogas encima,”she snaps.

“Um, hello?” Holding her fiery stare, I lift my arms, reminding her they’re also very much covered in tattoos. That’s where I leave it, though. She doesn’t need to know I’m riding around with a plethora of drugs again, too.

After my last six-month stay in County, I was determined to keep my stubborn ass off the streets and finally make her proud, but La Carretapays shit, and once you get used to the money, it’s hard to let it go. Ángel made it even harder by offering me a position of power in his surreptitious world of corrupt elites; hence, why I’m caught in this lifestyle deeper than ever before.

Undoubtedly the stupidest decision I could have made, I know, but beingla Jefahas extreme perks.My wallet no longer weeps from the paltry clutches of poverty, and my family wants for absolutely nothing, unlike when we first arrived here from Cuba. I pay my bills, pay most of Ma’s bills—my brother handles the mortgage—and I can still take an impromptu trip to Bora Bora with my girls if I felt like it. I don’t need to wait tables at La Carreta,but I do it because I need a solid cover.

Ma has nothing to say to my virtually silent reply, lips thinned as she lifts her chin much in the same challenging way I often do. What is there to say? She knows judging others based on their exterior is wrong, especially when she knows nothing about them to support such judgment. Does Ángel look like the good boy next door? Hell no. Still doesn’t give her the right to assume—even if she’s right.

I’m about to tell her as much when the vibe of my phone leaves me with the rebuttal on the tip of my tongue. Retrieving it from my back pocket, I glance over the illuminated screen.

My stomach flips around furiously at the message displayed.

Papi:I’m here,muñeca. Open up.

Trying my damnedest to remain unaffected—because the last thing I need is to add more fuel to her fire—I type out a quick reply and stuff the phone back into my pocket.

Me:Two minutes. I’m downstairs at my mom’s.

“Well, looks like this conversation is over.” Pushing off the counter, I take the three necessary steps toward the table and grab my keys. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Ma.”

“Don’t walk away from me, Benita,” she grits, halting me before I can so much as spin on my heel.“No termine.”

My arms shoot out at my sides in pure irritation. I’m so fucking tired of having this conversation with her at least once a month. “What is there left to say, Mom? You don’t like him, I get it. I don’t need to hear you say it five more times.”

Her eyes blaze in barely-contained fury, face overcome with the crimson tinge of anger as she slams a fist onto the counter, rattling her mug.“Bueno, me vas a oir!” You’re going to hear me!“He’s not the man for you, Benni! You need to let him go before you wind up in prison.Porque tu lo sabes, you know damn wellif they arrest you again, you’re not going to County. They’re going to lock you in Max and throw away the key, whether you’re guilty or not!”

She’s not wrong.

Just a couple years ago, I served two different sentences pretty much back to back. The first time, I was pulled over for a dead taillight on my Civic and wound up downtown for the six ounces of weed in my back seat. Tommy bonded me out within the hour, only for me to be hauled away when I showed up for court a few weeks later. Six months, one per ounce—that’s what the judge slapped me on the wrist with.

You’d think I learned, right?

Nope. I went right back to doing the same shit like I’d never gotten caught in the first place. Four months later, I was chargedagainfor a similar crime. They got me with weed, cocaine, prescription pills, and various paraphernalia, too. Why I got off with six months a second time is beyond me, but that was the sentencing where the very same judge promised me I wouldn’t get off so easily a third.

They catch me now, and I’m going away for a long time.

End of story.

“I’m not even doing anything I’m not supposed to be doing!” A blatant lie, but what else is new?

Since I followed Tommy onto this depraved path, all we’ve done is lie to her.

Better to lie than starve.

“Estas segura?Because somehow I doubt your checks from La Carretaare able to pay your rent, your bills,mybills, and still leave you moneya estar en la calle con ese hombre!”

Once again, she’s not wrong; those checks are pitiful, but I’m not going to stand here and argue about it until I’m blue in the face. It’s pointless, just like the conversation Ángel wants to “finish” tonight.

Nothing is going to come of it.

“Think whatever you want, Ma. I’m out.” Turning on my heel, I stalk through the house to the front door, counting the seconds until she comes speeding behind me to whoop my ass.

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