“You shouldn’t hide things from your PR person,” I tease. “Survivor stories are a marketing goldmine.”
“Is that so?” His question is slow and thoughtful, and he’s not smiling.
A protracted pause, and I decide to back off. “You don’t have to tell me. I was really just curious.”
“I know.” His eyes are on his wine glass, and I feel guilty for prying.
“What’s that saying? ‘It will be okay in the end. If it’s not okay, it’s not the end’?” It only gets me a small smile, and I keep going. “I read it on a cat poster.”
That gets me a laugh. “You’re quoting the Lego movie now? What are you, twelve?”
“You caught the reference.”
“I happen to like Will Ferrell.”
This is better. I grin, “I seem to recall someone said I was a baby.”
“I’m starting to think you have daddy issues.” He lifts the wine glass and takes a sip. “Don’t most women?”
Wrong answer. “Don’t go there.”
He blinks up at me, and his expression softens. “Sorry.”
An uncomfortable silence floats between us, and I try to think of anything to say. I hadn’t meant to be sharp. I hadn’t meant to show my hand, and I really wish we could turn the clock back to a few seconds ago.
I’m surprised when he suddenly answers my original question. “My mother left when we were kids.” A little pause, a little frown. “Elaine was just a baby.”
My brow lines as I try to understand what he’s telling me. “Left... as in she moved to another house?”
“No.” His voice is quiet. “I didn’t know where she went. I’ve since learned she moved to California. Half-Moon Bay.”
“The other side of the country?” I actually hadn’t planned to say that out loud.
“As far from us as she could possibly get it seems.”
I can’t tell if he’s still angry. I feel like he must be—I know I can’t seem to let go of my past.
“But... that was better, right?” For whatever reason, I want to comfort him. “Better than if she’d stayed and been unhappy?”
“No.” He exhales a frustrated growl. “I don’t know. How can I answer that? All I know is Edward was a wreck. Henry was a sullen prick. Elaine was four.”
Blinking quickly, I don’t know why my eyes are hot. “How old were you?”
“Eleven.” He still isn’t looking at me, and I’m not sure I want him to. Tears would bring us too close. “She kept asking for our mother, and I wanted to protect her. I didn’t want her to feel like she’d lost everything.”
Pressing my lips together, I swallow the pain in my chest. “Is that how you felt?”
Those smoky hazel eyes rise to mine. “I was pretty young.”
Nothing is between us on the banquette, and I don’t hesitate. I reach forward and take his hand, threading our fingers. Warmth spills through my chest. I can’t contain my feelings for him.
“I’m so sorry that happened to you.”
“Ahh,” he leans back. “We all have shit in our past. Basically, it meant I was Elaine’s single parent.”
“At eleven?”
“Yeah.” It’s more of a sigh than an answer. I decide to turn it around.