“Joke’s on you, asshole,” I say. “I went to NYU and studied finance.”
His eyebrows lift slightly in surprise.
“And I got a master’s in business. Top of my class.”
He stands up straighter, studying me now. He judged me, and he doesn’t even know me.
“I worked in finance in New York,” I continue.
“Why are you working here as a bartender then?” he asks, looking confused.
I don’t miss the way he says it as if I’m a felon or doing something wrong. There’s nothing wrong with working as a bartender. And the fact that he’s judging me on this tells me everything I need to know about this man. He doesn’t need to know anything about me, and definitely doesn’t get to know anything about my mother.
“You have no right to come here and judge me. You don’t even know me,” I practically spit out.
He frowns.
“You are absolute trash,” I say evenly. “And I’m grateful I didn’t have to know you.”
He doesn’t react the way I expect. He ignores my insults. “How’s your mother? What was it, six years ago, I last saw her? We talked, and she was upset, but is she still here on Coconut Beach?”
His casual words pierce me like a knife. Six years ago. My stomach drops and the pieces that I’ve been missing are now clicking into place.
Six years ago, I was in New York, starting my new job.
Six years ago, my mother stopped leaving the house.
She’d been bartending with Jonah at Chaos. Then suddenly she wasn’t. She stopped leaving the house. Canceled all plans. She had panic attacks. Severe anxiety. She started shrinking. Becoming a shell of who she was.
I stare at him, and the anger I feel toward him makes me see red. I feel dizzy as I stare at him.
“What did you say to her that day?” I ask.
He shrugs as if it isn’t important. “I don’t remember. I was here with my wife and kids.”
Kids. He has kids. I have siblings.
The words hit me even harder than I thought they would. I always figured that my biological father probably married and had a family. Sometimes I wondered if I had siblings.
I shake my head back to reality and stay focused.
He was here with his wife and kids on vacation. While my mother was here alone. Raising a kid while she was practically a kid herself.
“Look.” He spreads his hands like this is unfortunate, but inevitable.“We were young,” he says. “Things happen.”
Things happen.
I step closer again and shake my head in disgust at him. “You are really something.”
My hands are shaking so badly.
He looks annoyed now and defensive. “It wasn’t personal. I had a path. I couldn’t just derail my whole life.”
“So, you derailed hers instead.”
He scoffs and sighs.
“You have no idea what you did,” I continue.
