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“Jesus, Beck. I’m so sorry…”
“It’s all right. Now it is, at least.” Beckham’s face darkened, like a shadow had passed over him and him alone.
“It’s not all right, is it?”
He took a moment to answer. “No. No it’s not.”
I reached across the table and put my hand on his. I didn’t even think twice about it, just did it. My thumb traced small circles on his skin. “Maybe there’s time for things to be fixed. People always come around, especially when they’re family.”
“How about when they’ve been buried six feet under?”
Words escaped me. I squeezed his hand in mine. The pain and regret in his eyes was clear as day.
“I never got the chance to fix things,” Beckham continued. “He kicked me out of the house at sixteen. I was on my own, and I made it. I survived. When I moved to the States, I never looked back.” He took a breath. “Until I got a call from my mum last month. We had been able to fix things, me and her, something like ten years ago, but me and my father never… we couldn’t work it out. So I get a call and she tells me about the funeral, about how I need the closure. They had started talking a few years back.”
“That’s why you were in London.”
“I went to the funeral. I didn’t get any bloody closure, but I did get a sealed letter written by the man being buried, delivered by his widow I assume.”
I felt like my head was spinning on my shoulders. “What did… no, you don’t have to tell me. I’m just being nosy.”
“I wouldn’t be able to tell you what’s inside even if I wanted to. I’ve lost the damn thing.”
“Oh, Beck.”
His head dropped. He took his hand from mine and set them on his lap. My heart broke into a thousand different pieces.
“Whatever was in there, doesn’t matter now. He’s dead and so is my childhood.” He shrugged, a steely expression taking over. “Guess that makes us even.”
“Your mom wouldn’t have any idea what was in there?”
“No. They had fixed things but still weren’t a hundred percent open with each other. I don’t think she ever forgave him for pushing me out. Or herself for letting him.”
My heart felt like it was in a vise grip. I could see the twisting pain that made itself home inside Beckham’s chest. His eyes turned toward his fist, his smile curving down into a deep frown. It surprised me: how strongly I felt Beckham’s pain, like I’d just been physically punched in the gut.
“You’re going to find it, Beck. I’ll help you look.”
He shook his head, eyes still turned downward. “It’s over. I went to the funeral and got whatever bullshit closure I could. I don’t need whatever was inside that damn thing.”
I could tell Beckham wasn’t being truthful, but it didn’t feel like my place to press. “All right,” I said, sitting up a little straighter in my seat, “this weekend, we’re turning it into a date. We’re going to hunt for that letter.”
Beckham’s head rose, his eyes locking with mine again, a tiny smirk playing on his face. “A second date, huh?”
“Why, were you done after this one?”
His eyebrows jolted. “What? No, no. I wasn’t sure if you wanted… I’ve been having a really great time with you, Oliver. Truly.”
“I’ve been having more fun with you than Christina Aguilera had kissing Madonna on live TV. And that looked like a helluva lot of fun.”
Beckham chuckled at that. “I remember when that happened. Turned me into a Christina fan.”
I feigned a gasp. “You weren’t an Xtina fan from before?” I bundled up my napkin and dropped it on the table. “On second thought, I’ve gotta go.” I looked to him, both of us smiling. “I thought this was, like, what a girl wants… that there ain’t no other man… now I just feel dirty. Like… a… genie in a bottle?”
“Did you just use five Christina song titles in casual conversation?”
“Yes, yes I did. And what about it?”
Beckham stared at me for a second before cracking, laughter bubbling up through the both of us.
The conversation drifted into iconic pop queen territory as we talked about which diva left the most impact on us. I went with classic Britney while Beckham had a soft spot for Kylie Minogue. By the time we got to Gaga and Grande, the bill was already sitting on the middle of the table. I snatched for it, but Beckham was faster, grabbing the bill and stuffing his card into the holder. He proceeded to hold the bill on his lap until our waiter came back, handing it to her with a toothy grin.
“Jennifer Lopez,” I said, hitting the table. “She’s a goddess on earth. Ugh, I so wish I could go to her concert coming up. But when that vet school tuition hits, it hits harddd.”
