"Still, they are your family, Evan. You should try to be part of their life. Family is important."
"Do you have family, Holly?"
Her glance was unfocused over my shoulder. The diner was now empty except for us, the only other sound in the place coming from the kitchen. It was well after two, and she had told me that she worked until three. I didn't want the time to be over.
I waited as she gathered her thoughts.
"I lost my parents a couple of years ago. They were away on one of their trips and died when the bus they were on crashed in the mountains of Brazil. I have no siblings. So, no family—I'm alone." She stopped as if searching for words.
“One of their trips?” I prompted.
"My parents were free spirits. We relocated a lot, never settling—always moving from some new adventure they wanted to have to another. They worked so many odd jobs, never saving for the future, and when they died, there was nothing left for me. I hadn’t gone on that trip with them. I hadn’t gone for a couple of years. I was tired of the travel, to be honest. After they were gone, I stayed here. I was tired of moving around, being dragged from place to place. I had a job and a few friends. I needed to stay in one place for a while and figure out what I wanted to accomplish in my life."
I frowned. It didn't sound like she’d had a very good childhood.
“Is that why you like to sketch?”
She nodded. “A pad of paper and a pencil were easy to carry around. I could lose myself in the view—commit some place I liked to memory.” She sighed. “We never stayed anywhere for very long, and I knew we’d probably never go back. My parents believed in experiencing something—someplace, once—and going forward.” There was a beat of silence. “I often think I was one of those things.”
“Sounds lonesome.”
She met my gaze. “It was.”
"How old are you, Holly?"
"Twenty-three."
"I'm thirty."
"It's just a number, Evan."
"True. Do you, ah, do you live alone?"
"With my cat, Chester. I have a roommate who is hardly ever there. Connie travels for a living and comes home every so often to swap her wardrobe, catch up, and she’s gone. It’s her place—I sort of take care of it while she’s gone."
"You like it here?"
She shrugged. "I was so tired of never having anything to call my own—never feeling I truly had a home. I wanted someplace I felt I could belong."
"Did you find it?"
Her voice was so low, I almost didn't hear her. "Not yet."
The urge to lean forward and tell her I wanted to help her with that was strong. Instead, I squeezed her hands. "We all want that, Holly. We all need to belong—to someone and someplace."
She nodded.
"What
do you want from your life?"
"I want to go back to school and get my degree. I want to work with kids. I love kids."
“You want to teach?”
“Teach or early childhood development. I’m still deciding.”
"Is that—" I paused, unsure how to ask "—going to happen for you?"