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“Maybe they’re my guilty pleasure.”
“Adalee, it’s about my mom.”
“Your mom?” She raises an eyebrow, and I know what she’s thinking. Why the hell am I thinking about my mom after we just slept together?
It’s not like that.
“My mom...before she died...Adalee, she told me some stuff.”
She stiffens, awkwardly, nervously. I hate that I’m making her feel uncomfortable, but I feel uncomfortable too. That’s the problem with being honest. It never really feels that great.
“What kind of stuff?”
“She told me that she was best friends with your mother.”
Silence.
Utter silence.
“Did you know that?”
Still more silence.
Okay, so she didn’t know.
“They went to college together,” I say. “And they were friends. Your mom got sick. She got sick and she couldn’t take care of you, so she asked my parents to take you.”
“That’s why they took me?” She whispers, and her voice starts to crack just a little.
“Yes.”
“But your dad...”
Now it’s my turn to be tense.
My dad?
What the fuck has my dad done?
“Adalee, what did he do?”
“He said...I mean, I thought...”
“Adalee?”
She starts to cry, and I grab her, pulling her close.
“Shhh, it’s going to be okay,” I promise, but I don’t actually know if that’s true or not.
“I thought I owed you all a debt,” she whispers finally.
“What?”
“Your dad. He made me think...I thought...I thought he’d sold my mom drugs, or that he’d bought me from her.”
“What the fuck?”
Is she serious right now?
