Work Text:
After he graduated from Queens College with a degree in accounting, José stayed up late every night looking through his accounting textbooks. He sat at the table with a textbook open, working out the sample problems with a ballpoint pen on a legal pad's yellow sheets of paper.
If he made a mistake, José ripped the page from the pad, crumpled it up, threw it on the floor, and started over. He felt like a child again, trying to do all of the math problems in a chapter for homework, even the ones that were not assigned.
“Don't worry, you'll get a job soon,” Kitty murmured softly, when he finally went to bed. She yawned, and quickly went back to sleep, looking like their sons when her eyes were closed, her cheeks, nose and jaw like Lyle's, her honey blonde hair like Erik's. José wanted to kiss her, but he was afraid that it would wake her up.
When he finally did get a job at a small accounting firm in Princeton, José struggled to adjust. He was the only foreigner there. His boss made it clear from the first day that he had only been hired because of a recommendation from his professor, and for three months he was on strict probation.
When he came home, his briefcase in hand, and a stack of spreadsheets under his arms, Lyle was angry about something, and was yelling at Kitty.
“Don't worry about it, then, Mom,” Lyle said sullenly.
“Joseph Lyle Menendez, I am your mother!” Kitty shouted.
“Relax, Mom. I'm just being a kid.” Lyle sneered and rolled his eyes.
“Oh god!” Kitty yelled, matching Lyle's mocking tone. “José, did you hear that? We have another ten years of this bullshit, at least.”
“Get out,” José said, and pointed toward the door. “Lyle, Kitty. Both of you, get out now.”
Lyle’s nostrils flared. He folded his arms over his chest and shook his head. “No, Dad. Not yet. Not until Mom gets the point.” Kitty had bought Lyle a new pair of jeans, but apparently, they were too long.
“These jeans cost $50,” Kitty wailed. “They're perfectly good, I just need to hem them.”
“$50? Jesus, Kitty, you shouldn't have.” José groaned and rubbed the side of his head. “Just take them back. Take them back, and get a refund.”
“Ha, see? That's what I've been saying, Mom!” Lyle crowed. “You shouldn't have even gotten them. You didn't even ask me if I wanted them!"
Lyle's sense of entitlement made José angry. It was payday, and after the rent and utilities were paid, there would be very little money left for food. He would have to beg his parents for help, again. “Son, you are being very ungrateful right now. For shame, you are eight years old, you should act like it.”
“I am acting like it!” Lyle screamed, picked up the pair of jeans, and threw them at Kitty. The jeans sailed clumsily through the air, and one of the legs hit her in the face. From the doorway, Erik began to cry.
“Is this what you want?” José asked. “Do you want to hit your mother?” José dropped his papers and briefcase and reached for Kitty, dragging her toward Lyle. He held the flab of her upper arm in his hands, pinching her. “Go ahead,” José said. “Go on, hit her. I will hold her still, just take a swing.”
Kitty whimpered and tried to pull away, but José held on. “Daddy, stop!” Erik screamed. José let go of Kitty. He turned, opened the window, and one by one picked up and threw everything within reach outside: toys, shoes, shirts, an album of baseball cards, an Erector set.
“Daddy, that's mine!” Erik shrieked, but it was too late, and it fell, a swift rustle through the bushes, and then a loud clatter on the front porch.