Page 6 of Sweet
“That’s perfect, honey.” Betsy took the cutting board from him and dumped it into a steamer basket on the stove. “The roast will be done in just a few minutes and then we’ll eat.”
Eating Sunday dinner at Betsy’s was the first time Spider had ever really had what he thought of as “white-people food.” When he was little, his mom always had something on the stove. Fresh tortillas with butter melting in the middle, breakfast tacos tucked into his dad’s lunchbox, burritos in his backpack for lunch. His mom hated when he asked to eat the cafeteria food at school; she said it was garbage food.
After his dad died, his mom didn’t have time to cook. She gave him money to buy food, but he spent it on junk. He was pretty sure he ate nothing but tortilla chips his entire eighth grade year.
When he was running with Chino’s crew, he ate whatever was at the house, and sometimes that was a home-cooked dinner. Sometimes it almost felt like a family.
Until it didn’t.
“Spider, can you put the placemats on the table?”
“Yeah.” He walked to the built-in cupboards that covered one wall of the kitchen and grabbed the plastic-covered mats and set them on the table. One for Betsy, one for him, and one for Emmie.
Regular old family dinner, only with soupy beef instead of chile verde and beans.
“Emmie,” Betsy called. “Put your book down and come to the table.”
Emmie’s mom, Yvonne, was touring with her band that weekend and had two gigs in Sacramento. Yvonne was funny, but she reminded Spider of the women who would flit around the edges of Chino’s crew, hungry for attention and excitement.
Emmie rounded the corner and hung on the doorjamb of the kitchen. “What are we having?”
“Pot roast.” Betsy took the lid off the brown pot thing with the glass lid, and the aroma filled the kitchen. Spider’s mouth started to water, but Emmie groaned.
“I thought you were going to make lasagna.”
Betsy put the beef roast in a large bowl and rounded up the potatoes in the soup pot, spooning them out of the soup and placing them around the roast. “I didn’t have time to make lasagna, honey. If you help out in the shop next week Sunday, maybe we can do it then.”
Emmie looked like she was going to protest again, but Spider caught her eye and raised an eyebrow. She shut up.
They’d had a conversation a couple of weeks ago about not complaining when people fed you. No matter what it was, that food had taken time, effort, and money. You should be fucking grateful even if you didn’t like it.
Emmie went to the fridge and opened it. “What do you want to drink, Spider?”
“Coke.”
“Water for me,” Betsy said.
“Can I have a Coke?” Emmie asked.
Betsy sat at the table and let out a tired breath. “Emmie, no. You’ll be up all night if you drink caffeine. Have water, milk, or juice.”
“Grandma, oh my Go—”
“You know what? I’ll have juice.” Spider cut off her protest. “I’m not working tonight, so I should cut the caffeine. Try to get to sleep a little earlier, you know?”
Betsy offered him a grateful smile as Emmie filled their juice glasses and she served the roast. “Did you have a busy week?”
“Pretty busy.” He waited until everyone had food on their plate before he started to eat. “Rudy hooked me up with a guy who wants a full back piece, so that’s pretty cool.”
Betsy said, “That sounds complicated. Will it take a long time?”
Spider smiled a little. “Yeah. It’ll take a while ’cause he wants it in color. I guess the guy said he’d seen one of my pieces on another guy at his work, so that was pretty cool.”
She patted his hand. “That’s wonderful; you’re going to have your own shop if you keep working so hard.”
Betsy was always interested in his job even though she was, like, the last lady in the universe who would ever get a tattoo or even be interested in them. It was a damn miracle she’d given him the time of day when he showed up at her store, looking for work. He could cover his sleeves, but not the ink on his neck. He thought for sure she’d kick him out, and he was ready to run if she picked up the phone and called the cops.
Spider reached for his glass of apple juice and watched Emmie across the table. The little shit looked like she was in the mood to start something, and Spider knew it would be something to do with him. Emmie loved tormenting him.
