The Thought Readers (Mind Dimensions #1)(27)

Alternative lifestyle aside, Sara and Lucy are living, breathing stereotypes of two similar, yet different, kinds of moms.

Take Sara, for instance. She’s a Jewish mom to the core. Never mind that she’s the most secular person you’ll ever meet. Never mind that she married a non-Jew, which isn’t kosher. She still regularly hints—and sometimes outright says—that since I’ve finished my degree from a good school (of course), I should meet a nice girl (meaning a Jewish girl) and settle down. At twenty-one. Right. And she has all the usual guilt-trip skills down to a T. For example, if I don’t call for a couple of days, I get the whole ‘you don’t need to trouble yourself to call your own mother; it’s not like I’m in any way important,’ et cetera, et cetera. And then there’s the weird stuff, like if I’m out late and make the mistake of mentioning it to her, she’ll want me to text her when I get home. Yeah. Never mind that on other nights—when I don’t talk to her—I might not come home at all, and she’s fine with my lack of texting.

Lucy is no better. Well, in truth, Lucy is better now. She only expects a call from me once a week, not daily. But when I was growing up, she was worse than Sara. She must’ve read that book about being a Tiger Mom and tried to apply it literally, with probably the worst possible subject—me. In hindsight, I think I had ADHD when I was a kid. When it came to the violin lessons she tried to force me to take, I ‘accidentally’ broke a dozen of the stupid instruments to test her resolve. When I broke the last one (over another student’s head), I was expelled, and that did it for musical initiatives. Then there were the ballet lessons. I was kicked out for beating up a girl, which was not true. I knew from a very early age that you don’t hit girls. Another girl pushed the victim, but I, because of my reputation in the class, took the rap. Lucy also wanted me to learn her native Mandarin. I don’t care if I mastered a little bit from her when I was a baby, or that I can string together a few sentences even to this day; that was just not going to happen. If I’d studied Mandarin for her, I would’ve had to take Yiddish lessons for Sarah, too. Oy vey.

So, finishing school early and going to Harvard was partially an attempt to make my mothers happy, but even more so a means to get away from their overzealous parenting techniques and experience some freedom in Boston. Not to mention that finishing college allowed me to get a job and my own place as soon as possible. Ever since I gained some distance, my love for my family has deepened greatly.

As I pull into their driveway, I see three cars outside. I recognize the extra car as Uncle Kyle’s old Crown Victoria.

Great, he’s here. That’s the last thing I need.

“Hi Mom,” I say when Sara opens the door. I’ve never really seen much of myself in her, which makes me wonder that much more now about who my father might have been. We both have blue eyes, and I could’ve inherited her height, I guess. At five foot seven, she’s tall for a woman. She seems particularly tall when, like now, she’s standing next to my other mom. Lucy is barely above five feet tall, but don’t let her size deceive you. She’s tough. Plus, she has a gun—and knows how to use it.

“Hi sweetie,” Sara says, beaming at me.

“Hi Mom,” I say again, this time looking at Lucy.

“Hi Kitten,” Lucy says.

Hmm. Are they trying to embarrass me in front of Uncle Kyle?

“Hey Kyle,” I say with a lot less enthusiasm as I walk in.

He smiles at me, a rarity from him, and we shake hands.

I have mixed feelings when it comes to Kyle. Even though I mentally call him uncle, he’s not my blood relative. Sara was an only child. He’s a detective who works with Lucy. As former partners, I guess he and Lucy are close—a camaraderie I don’t pretend to understand, having never put my life in danger the way they have.

I imagine my moms decided to ask Kyle to come around when I was growing up so I’d have a male role model in my life. However, their choice for the task couldn’t have been worse. As far back as I can remember, I’ve butted heads with Kyle. Pick an issue, and we’re likely to be on opposite sides of it. Doctor-assisted suicide, the death penalty, cloning humans, you name it, and you can be sure we’ve had a shouting match over it. I like to think of myself as a free thinker, while Kyle clings to what was digested and fed to him by some form of authority, never stopping to question anything.

The biggest mystery to me is actually why someone so traditional even accepts my moms’ relationship. My theory is that he has a mental disconnect. I imagine he tells himself that despite their marriage, they’re just best friends who live together.

I also think he has a rather tragic crush on Lucy. He would call it brotherly love, but I’ve always been skeptical. Especially given his very professional, cold attitude toward Sara, a woman he’s known for over twenty years. An attitude that was chilly all along, but grew downright frigid after the huge fight they had when he decided to discipline me with a belt when I was nine. I was clever enough to scream and cry like a banshee, and predictably, Sara had a major fit. She actually threw a vase in his face. I think he had to get stitches. After that, he only used words to discipline me, and his interactions with Sara became even more aloof.

Having said all that, after I stopped needing to deal with Kyle regularly, I began to feel more fondness for the bastard. I know he usually means well. He’s the closest thing to a father figure I have, and he did come around a lot, generally with good intentions. He told me cool stories about back in the day when he and Lucy kicked ass and took names—stories Lucy never chose to share, for some reason. And I wouldn’t be half as good a debater now if not for all that arguing with him. For better or for worse, he played a role in the person I’ve become, and that’s an honor usually reserved for people you consider close.