“What about you?” I asked, feeling it was the polite thing to do, even though I was nervous asking these things because it’s what you did when you dated someone—got to know them on a personal level.
“Got a younger sister, Saoirse, who is married and has two daughters—Chloe and Grace.”
“That’s an interesting name,” I told him. “I’ve never heard of it before.”
“It’s Irish,” he explained with a growing smile. “She got the short end of the stick. Super traditional Irish first name and a basic American middle name. I got the opposite.”
Now, that bit of information was intriguing.
“What’s your full name?” I asked, too tempted to let it go by.
“Raymond SeamusDelacruz. Irish mother and Spanish father,” he said, explaining his interesting combination. “My parents—Sheila and Francisco—moved to Arizona several years ago when they retired, to get away from the Minnesota winters. I go see them at least once a year, usually when my sister and her brood visit.”
That sounded nice. I’d never been to Arizona, but it was on my short list of places to visit.
“What about your parents?” he asked.
“Not Irish,” I said with a small smirk. “Tivoli is definitely an Italian last name, though my father and grandfather were both born in this country. My mother is one hundred percent Navajo.”
“Where do they live now?”
It was a basic question, and his answer was obviously simple enough, but my answer was much more complicated.
“I don’t know where my dad is. He left when I was fifteen and never looked back. My mom lives in Florida, and we talk on birthdays and holidays, but I don’t visit her often.”
It wasn’t a lot of information, but I also wasn’t in the mood to give more, so hopefully he took the hint and moved on.
“How long were you married?” he asked, breaking the silence.
On the outside, I was cool as a cucumber, but on the inside, I flinched. “Pretty deep stuff before we’ve had a full cup of coffee,” I noted.
While I appreciated the topic change from my parents, I wasn’t sure this was much better. He said nothing else, though. Instead, he just waited for me to reply.
I sighed. If he wanted to go down that road, I’d give it to him—all of it.
“I met my husband, Brad, when I was eighteen—young and dumb,” I said dryly. “I was about three months away from graduating high school and met him through some friends.”
I shook my head thinking back to the nonsense of it all.
“He was supportive of me enlisting and going into the Army, even though it meant we didn’t know where I would end up. He followed me, though, as I went through basic training and then two more moves. Apparently, though, the third time was the charm.”
I sighed, hating to recall these not-so-great memories, even though they were years in the past. It still burned.
“While I was away on deployment, he cheated on me. He claimed men had needs, and I was gone too long to meet his.” It was impossible to miss the amount of sarcasm dripping from my voice at the end of that.
He snorted and rolled his eyes. “That’s bullshit, just so you know. I know plenty of guys I served with who could keep it in their pants during long deployments and not cheat on their spouses.”
“I know,” I said, looking off into the distance at the morning forest filled with fog.
It was calming to just watch the birds flit by, unbothered by the fog as the sun continued to creep its way through.
“My sister was pissed, but my mom gave me the old ‘I told you so’ when I showed up at her house for dinner a few weeks later.”
“Seriously?” he asked, clearly bothered by my mom’s reaction.
“Look, what you have to understand is that my father did that to my mom, and they divorced when I was in high school,” I explained, trying to justify her response as best I could. “She warned me before I got married that he wouldn’t be faithful, and if I was okay with that, then go for it. Otherwise, I should cut it off now before I got hurt.”
“Wow,” he said drolly, but nothing more, likely not wanting to offend me with how he really felt about her.
