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His mom visits him his second week in prison.
She’s his second visitor so far, the first being Amy, in the very first chance she got. He wasn’t used to being on the other side of the visitor’s room, and seeing Amy there, so close but too far to touch, was surreal. They spent almost the entire time crying at each other through the thick glass of the visitor’s room, and never before had Jake felt a few inches so strongly.
Then again, he’s never been in prison before.
His mom’s watching him closely as he approaches her. She looks small on the other side of the glass, as if the stress of the last few weeks caused her to shrink. Jake feels even smaller, if possible, walking towards her. He sits unsteadily on a seat that’s bolted to the floor and picks up the phone.
“Hi, honey,” Karen says, and a sharp lump appears in Jake’s throat.
“Hey, mom.”
The last time Jake saw her was after court adjourned and he was being led away with bound wrists. They didn’t give them nearly enough time to say their goodbyes, and between sharing frightened looks with Rosa and hurried words with Amy, he didn’t have time to do little more than let his mom hug him tightly. If he felt ashamed that time he got caught trying to sneak out of the house in his teens, it was nothing compared to having her see him in handcuffs.
Even if he is totally, completely innocent this time.
Karen is still searching her son’s face and Jake thwarts the urge to turn away. He knows he looks bad. He has bags under his eyes from the nights of hardly sleeping, and the stubble on his face is just a few days away from becoming a proper beard. His mouth feels stale and he misses the mints he always used to chew on.
Jake makes a mental notes to clean himself up before his next visitor.
“I’m glad to see you’re doing okay,” Karen says. Okay is relative and inaccurate, and they both know it, but it’s so far from the truth that it’s the only safe thing left to say.
Jake clears his throat. The lump is still there. “I’ve been great,” he says. “I’m planning on getting super ripped while I’m in here.” The phone feels heavy against his ear and he clutches it more tightly.
Karen smiles weakly and continues searching his face.
“You’ve been keeping quiet, though, right? You’re being safe?”
Jake opens his mouth to tell her, he’s been lying low, but his shoulders haven’t loosened up since he got here, and he’s terrified because he’s never been particularly good in fights, and who knew you could become touch starved so quickly?
The lump eats his words.
“Oh, I’ve been introducing myself as Jake the cop. I’ve been doing just fine,” he jokes weakly. Karen’s face tightens and Jake’s stomach twists in response. “Really, though, I’ve been keeping quiet.”
“Promise?”
“Promise. Plus, I have some people looking out for me here.”
“Guards or prisoners?”
“ Technically , they’re criminals, but they’re friends of a friend and they’re been helping me out. Apparently, it’s really obvious to everyone here that I’m not cut out for any sorta fight.”
“Keep it that way,” Karen stresses.
“I will.” Jake breaks her eye contact and stares at the space where the too-wide counter meets the plastic glass. He traces the rubbery glue with a finger and takes a few breaths. A burning in his throat creeps up.
“How- how’s Amy?”
Karen just breathes into the receiver for a moment before replying. “Stressed? Scared. Working hard to get you out.”
Jake nods. The memory of Amy sitting across from him in the same way, pale faced and breathing shallowly, wouldn’t stop flashing in his mind. He tries to move past it again.
“You’ve seen her, then?” He wills her to give him a better mental image of his girlfriend.
“Yeah,” Karen says. “A couple of times. She had me over for dinner the other night.”
“Good. Good . I’m glad you’re spending time together.” This isn’t a lie. The three of them would sometimes get together for lunch or dinner. Just a few weeks before his arrest, Jake and Amy had Karen over for dinner. They had awoken, giddy, to a clear day with no work shifts scheduled and a sudden urge to entertain. They made a sloppy lasagna as the early afternoon sun shone through the window, and later Amy went out and bought flowers - blue ones! - as Jake tried his best at food arrangement.
(Definitely nothing to brag about, and the table was a little too bare, but he dug out and ironed Amy’s favourite tablecloth before she got home, and she spent the rest of the day with a half-smile on her face.)
Jake shifts up in his seat slightly. The space around him seems too open and he wishes for a blanket to wrap himself in, or a nice hole to crawl into.
“Nice. Nice. Cool,” he says. “Did you have a good time? Oh god, you didn’t let her cook alone, did you?” Jake’s voice is tight. His mind is now blank, save for the need to leave immediately, and the severe and contradicting need to never leave , because he couldn’t leave his mom when he doesn’t know when he’d see her next, and he is so cold and he misses his blue hoodies and was so sick of seeing grey everywhere, and god , why did he need such a heavy phone just to talk to his mom?
His mom is mouthing something now, and her hand keeps moving towards the glass as though she, too, keeps forgetting it is there.
Jake readjusts the phone to his ear and tries to calm himself down back into the real world. “I’m here, I’m here,” he breathes. He shifts further on the edge of his seat, as if he could keep shifting until he was out of that room and out of those gates and back home with Amy where he belongs.
But he can’t, so he keeps his feet planted firmly on the ground.
His mom’s voice is steadier when she speaks next. “Honey, listen. You squad is working hard to get you out. Amy is working hard to get you out. You won’t be spending fifteen years here.”
“God, I really hope not.”
“You won’t . You’ll be out of here soon, and you can propose to Amy like you’ve been planning, you can finally give me the grandchildren I deserve, and you can go back to being a cop and seeing the sun and eating real food.”
Jake runs his unoccupied hand over his face. “God, I miss the sun. I mean, we’re allowed to go outside here, but everything seems so much dimmer . That’s not real, right? They can’t actually control the weather.”
Karen hums. “Don’t let them crush your spirit, honey. Don’t let them take that, too.”
Jake meets her eye for the first time since their conversation began. She’s always so kind, and it almost makes him cry again. “I won’t.” He toys with the phone cord. It twirls around his finger until it swallows it whole, and he yanks it back out again. “So, what have you been up to?”
“Other than missing you?”
“ Obviously. ”
“Not much. School’s letting out soon, so I’ve been cleaning out the art rooms, taking inventory. There’s some paint dried on the walls from last winter, and we’re going to have to scrape that off.”
“The janitors won’t do it?”
“They don’t like my department very much.”
Jake forces a smile. “I know the feeling.”
“Anyway, I’ve been thinking of painting a sort of mural for Gina’s baby. I was thinking a pack of wolves, maybe do a whole woodland scene to go with it.”
“Aw, she’d like that.” He twirls the phone cord again. He can see Karen, covered in paint, working on a mural in the spare bedroom of Gina’s apartment. He can see Gina’s baby, with auburn hair and a dance outfit. And the squad’s there, and they’re talking and eating, and Amy’s face is pink, but in a healthy way, the way it gets when she’s laughing and comfortable.
“I can’t wait to see it when it’s done,” he chokes out. He really, truly, cannot wait.