Page 81 of Apparently, I’m A B!tch

“Do you know what your mother did when your father’s boss tried to kiss her?”

My eyes flew open. “What?”

“It happened a long time ago. You were too young to know.” He grunted, taking a seat on one of the cushioned chairs.

I stepped closer and asked, “Wait. My father’s boss tried to kiss my mother?”

He nodded, another grunt escaping as he adjusted himself.

I pursed my lips, picturing it. My mother would’ve come in to bring lunch for my father. She did that sometimes, while I was at school. They would’ve sat at his desk together and talked quietly. Then, as my father left his desk for something, his slimy boss would’ve come in, and knowing what he did about my mother’s quiet demeanor, he would’ve tried to get what he could from her in that small space of time.

Running my hand through my hair, I turned a pace, disgust at the image bubbling in my gut. “Emi would’ve taken it. She would’ve sat there and let him kiss her,” I muttered.

Uncle Henry scoffed. “She didn’t stay quiet, no. You are wrong.”

My attention jerked back to him. “What do you mean? What did she do?”

“She screamed.” He said it as if it was obvious.

And why wouldn’t my mother scream? What woman wouldn’t?

But I couldn’t imagine her doing that. I couldn’t imagine her doing anything other than take the abuse she was given.

My mother was placid, quiet. Shy. Just as I was while growing up. But Uncle Henry was painting a different picture.

“What happened after that?”

“Your father came in the office, and he was fired for putting his hands on his boss.”

I made a sound of disgust. “So, my father was fired for protecting his wife. That seems typical.”

“Yes. But they did not stand for it. Your mother made your father send reports. That man was fired, and even though your father did not get his job back, they did get justice for themselves. They did not take it lying down.”

“They didn’t,” I repeated, trying to picture my mother raising her voice, pushing for acknowledgment of what she went through. It seemed so unlike her.

“No.” He eyed me and let out a resigned sigh. “Your parents kept things like this from you, but maybe is not always best thing to do. You should know your mother was not always so quiet.”

I straightened and stared down at Uncle Henry. His brief story was like a jagged puzzle piece, not quite fitting the ideas and beliefs I had about my parents, about my own way of seeing things. But if what he said was true, then my parents didn’t take situations as they came. They didn’t accept and adapt, believing they could never really change what other people had done.

My parents protected each other. They made sure they were heard and understood.

Uncle Henry rubbed his brow. “And you shouldn’t stay quiet either. You should tell Nikki what has happened. Stop sitting back and letting other people wreck things for you two. Let her help you make this better.”

Uncle Henry stood and padded to the pile of canvases amassed on the tarp. He sifted through them and pulled one out, showing my Emi’s desperate face to me.

“Look at her, Tristan. You could see how much your mother missed her home when she came here. You know she gave up much so you could live your dreams, and that was a wonderful thing she did for you and your father. But throwing away the things you love is not only way to show someone you care. Nikki and your mother would both want you to stand up for yourself. They would both want you to do the things that make you happy. Nikki loves you. She is only afraid of being hurt by lies. You can fix that if you show her you want to fix more than just this shop.”

Uncle Henry was right. It was clear now. I knew exactly what I had to do to win Nikki’s trust back, and what I needed to do to make Rochelle pay for what she did.