AFTER I CHANGED INTO A CLEAN SKIRT AND T-SHIRTwhile Costa finished preparing a lasagna with both red and white sauces before setting it in the oven, I check the clock. Killing time has not been easy.
“It’s been a while,” I say.
“Distract yourself,” Costa says. “Tell me something, anything.”
“I just spent the past hour summarizing every season ofSons of Anarchy. It’s not acceptable that you haven’t seen that show, by the way, considering you have a fondness for murder.”
“Maybe it’s not acceptable that youhaveseen that show. Pick another topic.”
“Okay, Costa Jorden,” I say. “Do people call you CJ?”
He wrinkles his forehead. “Uh, no, they do not.”
“Then, I will.”
“No, you won’t. What else?”
I pace the floor outside the open kitchen and blow a stray hair out of my face. I can’t think of anything to discuss that will make me stop thinking about Sam. “I have a crazy mother,” I spit out.
“So do I. Sucks, doesn’t it?”
“And my father left us years ago. Although I’m not really sure, I think he kissed me good-bye in the middle of the night. I haven’t seen him since. We weren’t allowed to talk about him.”
“You don’t know where he is?”
“No. And I don’t want to.”
“I don’t know where my parents are either. And I also don’t want to.” He fakes a smile. “Isn’t it great how much we have in common? The start of a beautiful friendship.”
“Yep. Lifelong friends, you and me.”
“Next topic,” he says. “I got an apartment in town, above the bakery. My place smells like snickerdoodles all the time.”
“Lucky you.”
“You should come over one day. Check it out. I’ll shuck oysters for you.”
I glare at him. “Nice try.”
Costa takes the tequila bottle from the table and hands it to me. “Have a drink. You’ve sobered up way too much.”
I slug down a shot. “Happy, CJ?”
“Your crazy mother. Is that why Sam was worried about you before he tripped? Why he told you to stay with him? What does that mean?”
His questions feel like a violation, and I don’t want to explain too much. “I get…messy sometimes.”
“Messy?”
“My mother did a number on me.”
Costa takes the bottle and drinks. “Messy, like you can’t see things clearly?”
I’m surprised by what he understands. “Yes, actually.”
He walks the floor for a minute, seeming lost in thought, and then goes to the stereo. He scrolls through his phone until he finds music he wants, and then he takes another drink. “Dance with me.”
“I already danced with you.”
