Page 158 of The Story of You

“Dad’s arranging marriages for me with police officers, which doesn’t make any sense. No way he follows the law all the time. It’s a bad move and I think he’s bluffing.”

Astute observation. But I don’t add that I have plenty of ways of keeping whatever I want from anyone.

“It would be a lot harder for me to conceal murdering a police officer if he touched you, but I’d find a way, amore.”

“Oh, God. Don’t murder people in my name.”

Julius shrugs. “I will if they deserve it.”

“Touching me isn’t cause for murder.”

“Agree to disagree, amore.” Julius shines a smile at him, and Oliver’s gone. He’s in love with Julius the same way I am Lakshan.

“We’re not going to have to worry,” Oliver declares. “Baba may be crazy sometimes when it’s about protecting me, but he’s also a logical guy, right?” he says in my direction.

I wish I had scotch and that I didn’t start this conversation. At least I’m good at fixing my own messes. “I am a logical guy, but what side of me do you think will be at play whensomeoneis foolish enough to approach me about marrying you?”

I say “someone” and not Julius because I know it will be Julius and I want to make sure it’s a long, long, long time before he even thinks about asking me. And then I will take a long, long, long time toconsiderhis proposal.

It sinks in. He gets it. “Ah, right. Which way did you say Mama’s room was?”

“This way. Come along.”

* * *

Silas

Mama died in here. The stagnant smell of death remains. No matter how many times I cleaned the room, it lingered. Everything is neat and tidy. Whoever Uncle Pax has cleaning the place has left it spotless.

“Did you mean what you said about dresses, Baba?”

“Yes. Over there in the closet.” I nod for Julius to take him.

I ghost my hand over Mama’s bed recalling the days spent here. The three of us entertaining Oliver. Darius reading books to Mama. Music. Chatting. Laughing.

There were bad things too—horrifically sad things—but I spare myself the torture. Remembering the good times is hard enough because that’s all they’ll ever be: memories. I can’t bring Mama back. No matter how much money and power I acquire, it’s useless in death’s merciless hand.

“Was this you?” Lakshan asks, handing me a framed picture. “Teenage me would have swooned over you then, too.”

It’s of me and Darius. One of those very posed photos in a studio, with Darius’s hands folded over the other and me behind him with my hand on his shoulder. I’m fourteen. He’s ten. It was taken not long after we found out Mama was pregnant with Oliver. There’s a soft smirk on Darius’s face. Mama had just told him to at least pretend he was innocent.

I have a slight scowl, annoyed with posing for so long because he couldn’t behave himself. It’s an innocent sort of scowl though with nothing sad attached to it. There’s no murder in my eyes. My cheekbones belay carefree vexation.

“Oh my God, this hat! I love this hat. Was Mama a movie star?” Oliver asks from across the room.

He’s wearing her large, beautiful sunhat with the pastel green bow hatband. “She looked like one. She wore that to Hawaii a few times,” I tell him.

“Hawaii? You’ve never taken us there,” he says like we haven’t taken him to Paris, Italy, Greece, Fiji, and many more exciting places.

“Pick a date that works with your dance schedule. We’ll go.”

“You need to teach the rest of us how to perform that magic trick, amore,” Julius says.

“What magic trick?”

“The one where you get Silas to give you whatever you want without asking.”

“Shit. I didn’t mean to. I mean, I was lamenting a bit, but I didn’t think that far ahead. Oh, look, shoes!”