Page 25 of A Boy Is a Gun: Part II
Makayla and I have been dating for a few months already.We’re still in the newlywed-can’t-get-enough-of-each-other phase, but also settling in to being a couple now.As I’ve gotten to know Makayla over the past several weeks, I learned she is just like Jamie in her own way.Her parents are very conservative, her brother is a respected cop, so naturally, she had to rebel.
The timing couldn’t have been more perfect.
She hasn’t come clean about what she really does, but I imagine that conversation is coming sooner than later.Que’s intelligence operative let me know her business has picked up.No, it’s not because she has good shit but rather because I told some people to fall back.Makayla has no problem treating me to fine dining, luxury shopping, and expensive vacations.
I’m enjoying all of it because I know it won’t last.
The door opens before we knock.Her mom stands there, her expression carefully pleasant.She’s dressed like a woman who’s spent all day preparing a meal she’s not sure will end in dessert or disaster.
Doug and Carol Underwood are the kind of people who iron their napkins and call it a personality.Proud, polite, and thoroughly middle-class—two decades of dinner-for-five and PTA meetings etched into their faces like fine print.Too polite to say what they're really thinking, too cautious not to think it anyway.
Doug’s got that blue-collar stiffness—retired contractor or something like it.Still walks like he’s measuring floorboards, eyes always scanning for weak joints.Doesn’t talk much, but I catch the way he watches me like I’m a fuse he’s not sure has already been lit.
Carol’s softer on the outside, warm smile and tidy cardigan, but I’d bet good money she ran her household like a classroom—firm, sweet, but sharp enough to make a grown man feel like he forgot his homework.She plays nice, asks about the coffee shop, compliments Makayla’s earrings, but she sees me.Not the man I pretend to be—the one I am underneath.And she doesn’t flinch.
They love Jamie.That’s not surprising.She’s the golden ticket—poised, well-spoken, influential.But the cracks show when she brings our family.I can see it in the way Carol’s mouth tightens or how Doug suddenly needs to refill his drink.They think Jamie’s reaction to her past is a bit dramatic.I can hear it in Doug’s voice when he says, “Well, y’all are family now.Time to move forward.”Translation: Let it go already.
They know I was behind what happened at the wedding.Of course, they do.But they also know I paid for Ethan and Jamie’s honeymoon, and that buys silence.Maybe even gratitude.In their minds, I evened the score—tragedy plus trip to Santorini equals no hard feelings.
Ethan can barely stand to be in the same room with me.Jamie’s jaw gets tight every time I speak.But his parents?They shake my hand, pour my coffee, and suggest we all just get along.
I like them.They know what I am.
“Makayla, baby,” Carol smiles, pulling her daughter into a one-armed hug.Her eyes flick over to me—quick but thorough.
“This is Cameron,” Makayla beams.“I’ve told you about him.”
“Yes,” Carol says softly.“You have.”Her smile never quite touches her eyes.“Come on in,” she says, stepping aside.
The scent of roasted chicken and rosemary fills the air.The house is warm and lived-in—family pictures lining the hallway, soft jazz playing from some hidden speaker.It’s charming.Intentional.And beneath it, sharp as a knife wrapped in velvet.
We step into the dining room, and there he is.Detective Ethan Underwood, starched and stiff in a collared shirt with rolled sleeves.He’s seated at the head of the table like he always is in the room—first to speak, last to back down.
Jamie’s beside him, already halfway through her first glass of wine.Her eyes lift to mine, flat and unreadable.
“Evening,” Ethan says, folding his napkin a little too precisely.
“Evening, Detective.”I smile.“Evening, sister.”
Jamie exhales.“This should be fun.”She gulps some more wine.
Doug appears from the kitchen, apron slung over his shoulder.He’s taller than Ethan and broader across the chest, but his energy is quieter.Calculated.He walks up to me with a practiced calm.“You’re the Page boy?”
“That’s me,” I nod.“Cameron.”
We shake hands.His grip is firm but not aggressive.Testing, not threatening.“Senator Page’s son,” he says with a flicker of recognition.“We saw each other briefly at the wedding.”
“I remember.”I nod.
He pauses.Studies me for a second longer than is polite.“Well, any friend of Makayla’s...”he starts.
“I’m a little more than a friend,” I offer casually.
He lifts an eyebrow and slowly nods.“I figured.”Makayla grins and kisses my cheek right there in front of God and everybody.
“Let’s eat,” Mrs.Underwood says quickly, gesturing to the table.“Before everything gets cold.”
We all sit.I take the seat directly across from Ethan.Jamie doesn’t look at me, but she hasn’t stopped watching me either.Dinner starts with small talk.Makayla carries most of it—telling stories about her new art collective and how she might be “accidentally” painting a mural on the back of a building that may or may not be owned by the city.Her parents chuckle.Ethan doesn’t.
