Page 126 of Trailer Park Billionaire
“Ha!” she huffs again. “I got built in prison, dear. I can move a little furniture by myself without a problem. Maybe you should try going to prison too to get a little fitter yourself.”
Helena stands in the center of the living room, surveying the space. Sunlight cuts through the tall windows, right onto the mural she painted on the biggest wall. It’s a copy of a painting her grandpa once created. Three mismatched mugs sit on thecounter, beside three boxes of pizza and a container of coconut rice cakes I made yesterday.
Elaine turns in a slow circle, arms crossed over her chest. Her prison-issued beige has been replaced by a purple cardigan and jeans that don’t fit quite right. She really did get fit in there. Her hair is longer now. Grayer, but looser. She looks younger than she did behind bars.
“You like it?” Helena asks.
Elaine doesn’t answer immediately. She walks to the nearest window, opens it. Listens to the construction noise and children yelling from the courtyard below. Then she turns. “No. I love it,” she says with a wide smile.
Helena steps over and wraps her arms around her. “Welcome home, Mom. It’s good to finally have you here.”
Elaine lets out a jagged breath. Then she melts into her daughter.
Two years of visitations, of cold plastic chairs and weekly check-ins. Two years of sitting on opposite sides of bulletproof glass, then opposite sides of the same table. Two years of muffins and stories and sharing memories slowly mending into something tender. And now, here they are. Hugging in the living room of an apartment built with money gained from selling stolen paintings.
I give them a moment and continue bringing up boxes with the furniture Elaine chose.
When I return, I interrupt their hug by dropping a box with a loud grunt.
“Ben,” Elaine says my name dryly, wiping her eyes. “You need to lift from your legs, not your spine.”
“Why? I’m trying to get a herniated disc as well. Maybe we could go to rehab together.”
Helena shoots me a look.
I shake my head. “Notthatkind of rehab. That’s not?—”
Elaine just laughs and places a kiss on her daughter’s head. Then the two of them start unpacking.
Outside, the gallery is buzzing. Helena’s gallery. Whitewashed walls, soft lights, and an in-house café where I spend more time giving away food than charging for it. The back patio hosts art classes. The front is always full of neighbors gossiping over coffee. Everyone who lived in the trailer park now owns their own apartment. The side entrance, for some reason, hosts raccoons that are part of the community as well.
“Cookie, please!” a tiny, authoritative voice echoes from the hallway.
Iris is standing in the doorway of Elaine’s apartment, arms crossed like she owns the place. Helena laughs quietly.
“Don’t you knock?” I ask, crossing my arms in turn.
Iris narrows her eyes. “Don’t you bake?”
I can’t help but join in on Helena’s laugh, then I get the tin from the counter. “Try this. It’s called khao nom kok, a rice cake recipe from Laos. Just one though. That’s enough sugar for you today.”
Iris grabs one of the round treats, inspects it like it might be poison, then bites. Her little eyebrows lift with pleasant surprise. “Huh. You do bake. Well done, Benpa.”
I bow to thank her for the compliment.
“I like her,” Elaine whispers to Helena when a knock at the open door pulls our attention.
Sienna and Ryker, all warm smiles and mismatched energy, step in holding a houseplant and a stack of papers. “Just wanted to make sure our favorite parolee has settled in,” he grunts more than anything while Sienna smiles brightly.
Elaine walks over to greet them both. “Only lawyer I know who brings gifts and legal disclaimers in the same hand. Though to be fair, you are the only lawyer I know in general.” Then she greets Olivia and Phoenix who walk in right after—bearing morewelcoming gifts—and to help set up her new furniture. Sienna’s husband, Ryker, had managed to get Elaine the deal that made it possible for her to move in here after only two years behind bars. My family will stay there much longer.
Eventually, the day drifts into something slower. Iris disappears along with the tin of cookies. Phoenix, Ryker, and I move heavy tables and beds, and wardrobes around the apartment. Olivia, Sienna, and Helena fill the place with plates, and mugs, and photo frames, and life.
That night, we all gather on the rooftop garden, string lights flickering overhead, music sounding from the speakers. I may or may not burn some stuff on the grill, Elaine drinks seltzer out of a wine glass, and we all share stories about how we ended up here.
Here. In our home.
We built this. From rubble. All of us.
