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Gavin shakes his head. “No, not really. From what I gather, I think it could’ve been anything. A one-night stand. A short-lived relationship. But there was me… so.” He rubs his chin before continuing. “I love my mom. She could’ve aborted me or given me away. And, trust me, there were times I wondered if I wouldn’t have been better off if she did. Life wasn’t easy growing up. She worked odd jobs to pay the bills. Most of them in bars. She brought plenty of men back to our place. That was fun.”
My gaze immediately goes to him, his expression one of disgust.
“I think my dad gave her some money to help with me. But who knows for sure? We never talked about that kind of stuff. It could be it just felt easier back then because I was too young to notice how bad things were.”
It’s taking everything in me not to open this car door and hurl. How had my fairytale life been such a fabrication? While I lived blissfully unaware of my husband’s cheating and lies, this poor kid had to endure growing up this way.
My whole life, I’ve felt loved and cared for. With my parents and brother growing up. And even more so married to Dan. Why hadn’t he done the right thing? Was he concerned I’d leave? Was he ashamed of conceiving a child with her? Or had he actually been the complete and utter asshat I’m currently judging him to be, thinking he could get away with this?
Because he did get away with this!
“Gavin.” Lifting the damp napkin to my nose, I wipe away the continued evidence of my distress. “I’m so sorry you had to grow up that way. No one deserves that.”
“It’s okay. It’s all I knew. Sure, it sucked, and I wouldn’t want to wish it on my worst enemy, but it’s over now.” He looks down at his joined hands, and a small smile curls his lips. “Good people came into my life when I needed it. Things have changed for the better because of them. My mom is still a hot mess, but I’ve decided family isn’t blood. It’s the people who treat you that way. Who want you in their life because they care. Not because they’re obligated.”
I’m a mess. That this amazing young man could’ve turned out so grounded despite his circumstances. I need to focus on that and not how completely betrayed I feel right now. But I’m so overwhelmed I can’t see straight.
“Can I drive you home?” Gavin asks, looking concerned. “I don’t think you should try to drive after all of this.”
“Yeah. You’re probably right. Are you sure you don’t mind? I mean, you were nice enough to sit with me, and then sharing all of this had to be uncomfortable for you. I don’t want to keep troubling you.”
“It’s no trouble. I didn’t have anywhere I had to be.”
“I could take an Uber.”
He shakes his head. “I really don’t mind. And to be honest, it would make me feel better to see you home safely. I’ve wondered what it would be like. If I ever met you. And now that I’ve made you cry… well, I’d feel better if I could get you home okay.”
This young man. If Daniel Danforth had any redeeming qualities that were passed on to this boy… well, I can’t say it would be this. Gavin seems honest and caring. The polar opposite of the words I’d use to describe my deceitful dead husband. “Thank you. Let me grab my purse from my car.”
* * *
Several hours later, after multiple sobs in the tub, shower, and bed, I still can’t wrap my head around everything. My heart aches like a bad tooth. The throbbing is both agonizing and unrelenting. Thankfully, I have tomorrow off.
Walking to the bathroom, I reach for another tissue when I catch myself in the mirror. I look like I’ve been beaten with a stick. My face is swollen, my eyes bloodshot. All the cool compresses and eye creams in the world won’t fix this by Monday. I begin to sniffle again. I never miss work. Even when I’m sick. But I deserve some time to face this head-on before trying to explain to everyone I know that nothing is wrong.
I reach for my phone and send Marshall a text, letting him know I’m not well and will need a few days off. It’s a white lie, but not far from the truth. I’mnotwell. I begin to sob again. How are there still tears?
Barely completing my text, I head to the kitchen to put on another pot of tea when the phone dances across the counter.
It’s Kat. “Hello?”
“Hey, Poppy. I felt bad I hadn’t reached out to you to see how you were after you left the club. When Dr. Weston’s security detail told us you were flying back to Hanover on his jet, we assumed things were good.” She giggles.
“Yeah. Everything was fine.” I cover the receiver as a sniffle escapes.
“You sick? You don’t sound like yourself.”
“It’s probably allergies.”
The line goes quiet. “Poppy?”
“Yeah?”
“You suck at lying. Did something happen between you and Broadie?”
I wipe my tears, wondering how much to divulge. “No. No. We’re fine. I haven’t heard much from him since last weekend beyond a few texts. But that’s how things seem to go with him.”
“Are you sure you’re okay with that? You sound upset.”
