“What’s he like?”
I sigh. “Why do you want to know all this? It’s so... untoward.”
“I want to know you.”
The look on his face is so kind, words start spilling out before I can stop them.
“My dad is... well, he’s funny and smart. Everyone who meets him likes him. My mom tells me he was very popular in high school. He was an athlete. The running, I get that from him. He played basketball in college. I used to watch him on TV.”
I feel a lump in my throat and pause for a second to shove it back down into my stomach where it belongs.
“My nose is my dad’s, and my stumpy thumbs. He’s more serious while my mom is flighty. As you saw.” I smile halfheartedly. “I was a teenager when I realized my personality is actually more like my dad’s than my mom’s, and I was so angry about that at the time. I didn’t want to be anything like him. Can’t fight nature, I guess.”
I pause for breath. The whole time I’ve been rambling, Ben’s expression has stayed inscrutable. God only knows what he’s thinking.
“Hmm,” he says, reaching for his water.Helpful.
“Hmm?What doeshmmmean? I’m out on a limb here, telling you all this.”
He shakes his head, swallowing. “Sorry, I’m just trying to wrap my mind around it. You and your mom must have been such an adorable pair. I can’t imagine how any man could walk away from that.”
His words hit me like a punch to the gut. Emotion squeezes my throat.
“What’s your relationship like with him now?”
I feel like I’m in a therapy session. “It’s... fine, I guess. I don’t know. We’ll never be close in the way my mom and I are, but it’s not acrimonious, at least. It’s important to me that I know my sisters, so I’ll always make the effort.”
“It must be hard to watch him with his new family.”
I can only give him a small nod. I don’t trust my voice right now.
“I can’t pretend to understand what it must have been like for you, but I think it’s pretty incredible you were able to forgive him enough to have a relationship at all.” He gives me a small, sympathetic smile, oblivious to my near meltdown. “Now. Why did you think you couldn’t tell me this?”
“Oh...” I look down and swallow. Then swallow again. Darn this lump. “It’s not you. I just don’t like talking about it, to anyone. People make judgments.”
He opens his mouth and I rush to intercept him. “I’m not sayingyouwould. It’s just when you sayteenage pregnancypeople automatically assume you grew up in a trailer park, that sort of thing. I prefer not to let it define me.”
He looks thoughtful. “I think it might define you in other ways.”
“What do you mean?”
He smiles gently. “Might this be why you do the work you do?”
“Oh. Yes, maybe in part. Kids in single-parent households deserve as much help as we can give them. Parents too. But it’s more than that.”
“What is it about, then? For you?”
I think about how to articulate the persistent ache in my soul. “It’s just that people don’t realize all the ways coming from a broken home affects kids. It’s a lot of subconscious stuff I bet you’ve never even thought about. Like...” I trail off. “I feel silly saying some of this out loud.”
“Nothing you’ve said has sounded silly.”
Something about his quiet encouragement makes me want to open up in a way I almost never do.
“Well, for example, I used to dream about going on a family road trip like my friend Jess’s family would do every summer. She wouldcomplain about it, of course, whining about how she hated being in the car that long and how annoying her siblings were. But all I could think about was how desperately I wanted to go on a road trip like that with my mom and dad and imaginary siblings. I used to hope and wish and pray so hard for it.” I look down at my plate. “But hoping doesn’t make things happen.”
Awareness dawns on his face. “Ahh.”
“What isahh?” I say, exasperated. I definitely don’t know his noises.
