Diary of a Teenage Jewel Thief(36)
“Mom, I know you loved Daddy.”
“Sí, very much. But I need you to understand that it was more than love for him that made me stay. Growing up, chiquita, my life wasn’t like yours. I had very little—few belongings and even less love. Your father, he showed me love, but he also showed me that the world was at my fingertips. His family, they were thieves for generations back. It was like a form of artistic expression for your abuelo before he retired. For the first time in my life, I had a real family who loved me and wanted me to be a part of what they did. And I was a natural. I remember the first heist I went on with him…” She stares up at the ceiling wistfully, likely reliving the moment. Then she shakes her head as if to clear it. “I wanted you to have the world, and I thought this was the only way I could give it to you. But…if I had left, if I had been a better mother…” Her eyes well with tears.
She’s apologizing for raising me to be a thief like her. She’s apologizing for my life, and she thinks she’s a bad mother. My heart cracks as a tear rolls down her cheek, and I scramble over to her, loop my arm through hers, and rest my head on her shoulder. “You are a great mom. The best. I don’t blame you for raising me the way you did, I promise.”
I feel her body shudder, and she releases a soft sigh, heavy with relief. We sit there like that for several moments. Then she kisses my forehead. “When did you get so grown up, hmm?”
It’s a good thing the question is rhetorical, because I wouldn’t have had an answer. Right now, I feel anything but grown up. I feel lost and scared—scared of Petrov, scared of never being able to connect, to really connect, with another person, to never tell them the truth about me. But most of all, I’m sad. I was just starting to feel like a normal life might be within my grasp. And now, I’m just hiding in my room waiting for the next time we have to run away.
“So, you are going back to school next week, sí?”
“I wasn’t planning on it,” I answer honestly.
“Mija, why not?” My mother gets up from the bed and stands facing me with her arms crossed over her chest. “This is what you wanted, no?”
I feel my cheeks redden under her stare, and I drop my gaze to the floor. “Yes, but that was before I knew Petrov wasn’t going to simply forget about us. I was stupid to think we could just leave and he wouldn’t come after us.”
“Mari, Petrov won’t find us here. He has no power here in the U.S. Besides, this is a big city, in an even bigger country. Trying to find us here would be like trying to find a needle in a haystack.”
I’m not sure if she believes that or if she’s just saying it for my benefit. She can’t really believe that Petrov won’t find us here if he really wants to…
“You should go back to school. Have the normal life you wanted. The one I should have given you from the start.” She sounds sad, and her expression is blank. I can’t tell if she’s still blaming herself or not.
I don’t want to tell her I have no intentions of going back to school, so instead, I say nothing.
After several long moments, she sighs in resignation and bends to kiss me on my forehead. “Just think about it, mija.” Then she leaves me alone in the room.
…
I’m never fully at ease when my mother is away. When she’s home, it’s easy for me to fool myself into believing I’m tough and brave and comfortable with the world and all its countless dangers. But when she’s away, I feel small; our home—wherever that may be—feels large and vacuous, and I have a tendency to wander through it listlessly. But the feeling is even worse now that I know Petrov is still looking for me. My mother’s been gone only four days and not due to come back for at least two or three more, but with each new day, I become more and more anxious waiting for her return.
When I catch myself peeking out my window and squinting down at the darkest corners of the street below for the third time in an hour, I know it’s time to find a diversion. So I pick up my phone and text Will.
Hey, you busy?
His response is almost immediate. Not even a little. What’s up, flower?
I consider my next question for only a fraction of a second before sending it. Wanna come over?
I’m already pretty certain he’s going to say yes before I get his answer. Be right there.
I don’t know exactly what “right there” means, so I toss my phone onto the coffee table and rush to make myself more presentable. After trading my pink flannel pajama pants and white T-shirt for a pair of black leggings and oversize gray sweater over a black tank top, I head toward the bathroom to freshen up. I’ve just barely finished brushing my teeth when the doorbell rings.
I rush to answer it, but when I get there, I slow my movements and run a self-conscious hand over the flyaway hairs coming loose from my bun. Hopefully the look is more messy-cute than frumpy. I push the thought away and unlock the dead bolt.
“Hey, flower, what’s going on?” Will asks as soon as I open the door. He doesn’t wait to be invited in, just brushes past me and barely waits for me to shut the door before heading to the living room. “Is your mom here?”
I shake my head, but his back is to me. “No, she’s…out of town.” Not a lie, I remind myself. I don’t need to tell him that she’s gone to try to unload our latest pilfered treasures to the highest bidder.