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That’s got to be messing with her.
“You should find another place to live.”
She shrugs. “It’s not so bad.”
“That means it could be better.”
“It could also be a lot more expensive. Besides, my … my daughter lives nearby. I came out here to be close to her.”
I nod, like I get it, but I don’t, not really. “What’s it like having a kid?”
She laughs. “I wouldn’t really know. I mean I gave birth, sure, and I was around while my mom raised her, but I kind of disappeared into partying after I agreed to pretend she was my sister. I picked up a drinking problem that took a long time to get under control. So, I basically have no idea what it’s like to be a mom.”
“Sorry, that sounds tough.”
“It was,” she says. “I wish I’d been brave enough to just raise her myself.”
“What were you afraid of?”
“I was scared that I’d ruin her life. I didn’t want to make any mistakes with her. She was too precious.”
The way she talks about her daughter, I can understand why she’s out here now despite the trauma she went through.
“What’s she like?” I ask.
“She’s smart,” she says with a smile. “So good at everything in high school, and so level-headed. I’ve never had to worry about her. She was always able to work things out for herself. She never leaned on my mom much, and she never needed me, really, at all.”
“It may not seem like it, but kids always need their parents, even if sometimes they don’t exactly admit it,” I tell her, getting a little pang of regret that I haven’t spoken to either of mine in a while.
They’re both alive.
Neither of Leanne’s are.
“I guess.” She nods slowly, and then straightens up.
For one tense moment, I think she’s about to tell me I can go.
It’s been more than a minute.
She let me in, and I’ve been enjoying listening to her talk.
I want to hear more. I want to find out who she is.
“I need coffee,” she admits. “Do you want one?”
I prefer tea, which most people don’t ever have so I’m not even going to ask. “That would be great.”
“Milk? Sugar?” She asks as she walks into the kitchen area of the apartment.
“Just black.” I don’t intend to actually drink it, so it doesn’t matter.
She nods slowly and switches on the coffee maker before she turns to the cupboards above the sink. I walk over and lean on the counter she’s standing behind, getting close, but making sure I’m giving her space at the same time. I watch as she opens a cupboard that appears to be crammed full of plates and bowls. She shakes her head and closes it.
“I keep forgetting where I’ve put everything,” she admits, as she goes to the next door and opens it.
This time, she’s found the mugs, but there’s something else in there, too. I squint at the black items sitting haphazardly positioned next to the mugs. It takes a second to process what they are. The ridges on them make something click in my brain as she shuts the cupboard door, and I glance down at the bottom of the apartment door. The envelope I dropped is halfway under the door now. It wouldn’t go through when she was in here alone, because she had those doorstops wedged under the door.
Shit. Our fated mate is too afraid to be in this apartment alone.
