I smile."Glad you see it that way."I curl my arm around her shoulders and hug her closer."Besides, I got the best thing of all out of the whole deal."
"A paid-for house?"
"Paid for?Please, Mal,” I cackle.“I re-mortgaged the shit out of it to start Wheeler Figure Skating Academy.I'll be paying that off till you're thirty."I nuzzle her cheek with my nose."No, honey.You.I meant you."
"Oh."This is in a small, sniffly voice.
"He doesn't know what he's missing, baby girl.But that's fine.It just means I get you all to myself."
Mallory snuggles closer, and we lapse into silence for a while.
"I'm getting cold," I say, eventually."Let's go in.I have some old scrapbooks full of photos, if you want to see what I looked like as a badass biker chick."
"Hell yes!"
And so we go up to my room, and I dig the thick binders out of my closet and let her leaf through them, pointing out who's who, where’s where, and when.She can't get over a photo of me that Slade took a few months before we broke up.I'm half-lit in profile by a giant bonfire.I've got my cut on with nothing under it, showing a ton of side-boob, my hair down to my waist and loose.He caught me dancing, full of joy and freedom.
I don't point out that Slade lost his temper an hour after that pic was snapped, and we spent the rest of the night in the ER because the scuffle ended with Slade stabbing the other guy and getting cut to shit in return.It was a pretty minor thing as far as knife fights go, and obviously, no charges were pressed.Their story was that the other guy was playing with a knife and tripped onto it, because that makes sense.But then, when a dozen giant bikers in leather and chains show up and tell you a story, it's best just to believe them—or pretend like you do.
She glances at me."Did you find the cut?"
"Oh, right."I find the box—an old box that once held printer paper, now it holds mementos from a bygone life.My old chain wallet, which still has an expired Alaska ID in it.A pocketknife that was a gift from Slade—it's a pink-and-camo Kershaw, and it has my initials engraved on it.I pocket it, because it's a damn nice knife and it's been long enough that it's just a knife at this point, and a useful tool.There are a few bandanas, a pair of Oakley sunglasses, loose patches I meant to add to my cut but never did, a Zippo, an empty flask…and my cut.
"Property of Kodiaks MC" is arced across the top and bottom, with the snarling bear logo in the middle, and support patches on the front.
She holds it up, examining it."Propertyof?"
"Well, yeah.I was an old lady, not a member."
"So that makes youproperty?"
I nod."More or less.Of him, of the club.I mean, I was a member of the club, but I wasn't a patched-in member.There's a difference, and a big one.Women can't be full-patch members.Just how it is."
"Sounds kinda chauvinistic,” she says, slipping the leather vest on and admiring herself in it in the mirror.
I snort."You havenofucking clue, baby girl.”I eye the odd sight of my daughter in my old cut, with extraordinarily mixed feelings.“Do you have any idea what would happen if I was to think it was cute to wear my old man's cut out in public?"
"Something bad?”she surmises, turning her back to the mirror and looking over her shoulder.
“Yeah," I say, droll."Big no-no.The cuts are sort of sacred."I point at the cut."You can'tevertake that thing out of this room, and you can't show it to anyone."
"Why?"
I point at the words on the back."Property of, babe.I was supposed to give it back to them, not keep it.Bongo, the Road Captain, let me keep it because he had a soft spot for me.I wanted to keep it because even though I didn't like some of the…uhhh…extracurricular activities, shall we say…that they were into, theydidtake care of me.I belonged.I still keep in touch with Bongo and some of the others, as a matter of fact.They pass through once in a while, and we catch up.So if you ever hear a bunch of motorcycles cruising through town, it's probably them.But he gave me very clear instructions that it was a memento and I couldn't wear it."
"It's that serious?Would they, like, beat you up or something?"
I tipped my head to one side."Ehhh, maybe?DogLeg, the president, liked me.If he's still the president, they'd probably just warn me.If some other hard-ass rule-stickler is president, it could be a bit more dire of a situation.So just, you know…don't get any wild ideas of wearing it to school."
"Yeah, no."She carefully removes it, folds it, and sets it aside to rummage through the other stuff; she toys with a black-and-white bandana."Can I borrow this?"
I take it from her, running a thumb over the paisley design.“This was my favorite one.I had a larger one just like it that I wore as a matching top all the time."
"A bandana as a top?"She shakes her head."No bra, nothing?"
"I've never had big boobs, babe.Back then, I was so skinny I didn't need one and never wore one.”I glance at her chest, which is much larger than my own, even at her age.“You clearly got your boob genetics from your father's side, because my mom was in the mosquito bite club too."I hand it back to her."If you want it, you can keep it."I dig the others out of the box."In fact, keep all of 'em.I'm not a bandana girlie anymore."
She immediately uses the black one to wrap up her hair, leaving the top flap loose.She holds the others, looking at me with an odd expression.
