“I was pregnant.”
“Oh.”
There’s a quiet pause, and I fill it by taking a drink of coffee. It feels good to be open about my past. It is what it is, and I can’t change it. If it turns people off, then I suppose they aren’t my people.
But I’ll never find my people if I’m pretending to be someone I’m not. I learned that the hard way. I’m not sure if it was a conscious decision to adopt this attitude or if it just happened when I opened the door to this new life, but here we are.
“Is your mom still...?” He trails off, like he’s not sure how to ask such a personal question, which is appropriate because I’m really not sure how to answer it.
I shrug. “We lost touch. After my grandparents died, it seemed like any hope of reconnecting died too.”
The lines in his forehead deepen in a frown. “That’s a lot—”
“I’m okay, really,” I say. “I had two loving parental figures in my life. They just had more gray hair than my friends’ parents.” I smile, hoping my nonchalance puts Miles at ease.
His return smile seems tentative.
“So,” I say, ready to change the subject. “Since we’re dissecting my dates, I feel it’s only right we also dissect yours.”
“Uh, pass.”
“No, sorry,” I say. “You don’t get off that easy. Plus, I might be able to help you too, you know.”
“Nah, I’m good,” he says. “My system is working really well.”
I tilt my head and look at him. “Tell me you didn’t just say you have asystem.”
He tips his fork at me. “Got it down to a science.”
I squint at him, trying to decide if he’s really as shallow as he wants me to think he is. “Don’t you get lonely?”
“I’m hardly ever alone,” he says.
I wince.
“Okay, not likethat. I’m not out there sleeping with anyone who has a pulse. I just like to go out. Meet people. See the city.” He takes another bite. “Did you hear me when I said this cake is amazing?”
I wave him off. “It’s just lemon cake.”
“Claire,” he says seriously.
“Miles.”
“It’s not just lemon cake. It’s like... an experience.”
I scoff.
“No, really,” he continues. “It’s like I’ve had this exact thing before, but not since I was a kid. This cake?” He points to it with his fork. “This literally transports me back to summers in my backyard. We’d leave in the morning, play in the neighborhood all day, and my parents would havenoclue where we were or what wewere doing. We didn’t come back home until the streetlights came on, and there’d be a home-cooked meal andthis cake. Sometimes my mom would let us spread a big blanket on the trampoline and eat dinner there. Then my brother and I would swat lightning bugs with one of those big plastic Wiffle ball bats.” He takes another bite.
I can’t help but smile. “Sounds perfect. Except for the bug killing.” I pause. “Only... we’d make jewelry out of them, so I can’t really criticize.” I look at him. “You grew up in a small town too?”
He nods. “It’s about two hours from here.” A pause. “Nothing quite like summer in a small town.” He picks up the coffee mug. “I feel sort of bad for people who only ever lived in the city. They don’t have a clue what they’re missing.”
I look down at my half-eaten cake, thinking about all the ways I miss my own small-town life.
It was simple. Not frivolous. Nothing we owned was new, or fancy, or brand name. And that old farmhouse was all I knew of home.
Still, I always dreamed of living in Chicago and making Gram proud. After the way my mother disappointed her, I wanted to give her that.
