Page 41 of The Heir
“The bike, not Donnie’s sister.”
Donnie spat beer and choked. He looked back at us with pink cheeks and watery eyes once he composed himself.
“Naw? March and you?” He wiped the mess off his mouth and laughed.
I opened my mouth, but wasn’t sure what to say, so I just nodded.
“Yeah. I, uh– just dropped her off. She’s at the Winehopper farm.”
“Ah, gran’s place. That’s what’s up...” Donnie nodded. “I don’t think anybody wants to go to dad and Izzy’s tonight.”
They both laughed and I ran a hand through my hair, unsure of what to say.
“You really like her, though?” Donnie pressed, staring at me.
I gave a slow nod, “She’s good people.”
“She is,” he agreed, without hesitation. “She deserves to be happy with someone who treats her right. If that’s you, then more power to ya’ll.”
He saluted me with his beer and swigged from it.
“Want a beer?” Easy offered, holding one out.
The bottle was dripping, and a cold beer did sound amazing.
“Sure.” I worked the top off and swigged.
“You talked to your mom?” Easy’s concerned rumble broke the silence, and my guilty gaze snapped toward him, answering him before I could.
He gave a grunt and nodded in understanding.
“She hasn’t changed a bit. Miss Crystal always was the nicest, we kids used to look forward to the wienie roasts and birthday parties at your house,” Donnie recalled.
Easy stared at him with a lewd grin, “That's what you remember about Miss Crystal?”
I cleared my throat, but it didn’t halt Donnie’s response any.
“Man, look– I know she was like the Goddess of Biker Chicks in ya’ll’s day. I know she was a dancer or whatever, but I was a kid back then. I didn’t see her like that.” He shrugged. “I doubt Blaze did, either, being he is her son. That’s your generation.”
“My generation,” Easy scoffed.
“Miss Crystal’s house always smelled nice, and her cupcakes had the most icing.”
“Her fucking cupcakes.” Easy cackled, disbelief seeping from his escalating tone.
“Yes. Look, not all cupcakes are created equal, Uncle E. I’m here to tell you. Some of them mothers would put anything on there. Cream cheese. Buttermilk. And spread thin as paper – The stingy asses! Not Miss Crystal. When Blaze brought cupcakes to school they were heaped with icing, colorful icing, too! None of that white or pink or brown shit from a one-dollar plastic jar.”
It was true. My mother drove fast cars and wore stilettos when I was little, but she showed out for birthday parties andgatherings. Baking was her specialty. I’d forgotten that about my childhood.
I was standing with a silly smile on my face when I realized they were staring at me.
“Sometimes I forget how much she changed. It’s hard to reconcile the woman I was born to, and the federal agent that stands sentinel over us now, but when I hear things, sometimes it brings back the strangest memories.”
Easy’s hand clasped my shoulder and gave a squeeze of a hug.
“Fuck them memories,” he firmly encouraged me. “Don’t spend your life lookin’ back. You don’t reconcile the parts of her. You just accept that she had to adapt. For her survival. For yours– She did and became who she had to. For her family.”
I blinked, staring at him.