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For the first time since I left home, I feel safe.
I’m in the break room of Superheroes & Scones.
I can’t believe I’m here—and yes, I’m slightly shaking. My arms tremble, and my legs have glued together. I wonder if the jitters are from the coffee Loren handed me, the only thing I’ve consumed today. Or maybe it’s nerves—from being in the presence of a famous person for longer than one minute. Or from being related to this human being.
I cup the coffee mug, afraid to drink more and have a panic attack at Loren Hale’s feet. Please don’t do that, Willow.
He sits next to me on the bright blue couch. The break room is pretty typical: a microwave, small kitchenette, tables and chairs, a few racks of comic books, and a single bathroom.
Lily, her son, her bodyguard, and Ryke all disappeared upstairs to—well, I’m not exactly sure what leads upstairs. The point is: we’re basically alone except for a couple of employees eating sandwiches at a back table, sitting beneath an Iron Man poster.
I think we can speak freely enough, but if Loren is cautious, I’ll follow his lead and be cautious too.
“I…” I begin but realize I’m unsure of where to start.
Loren’s confidence radiates and practically dwarfs what little I have in this moment. He keeps an arm on the back of the couch, rotated towards my body. “How’d you find out about me?” he asks, discovering a place to start.
Now I have to figure out how to explain everything. I tuck a piece of hair behind my ear, having trouble holding his gaze. “My parents divorced about a year ago.”
“I’m sorry.” He sounds a little cross, not towards me really, but maybe that’s his normal tone of voice? Everything seems to come out harsh, but it doesn’t always match his expression.
I guess if I looked at him, I’d have a better interpretation of this moment. Willow Moore, that little turd, can’t even look her own brother square in the eyes—will definitely be my eulogy.
I shrug and push up my glasses that keep slipping down my nose. “Ellie had her sixth birthday about a month ago, and it was the first time my parents were together since the divorce.”
The fight starts to flood me: the balloons littering the linoleum floor, the way my father passed me coldly and never looked back, the half-eaten cake and my mother gripping the counter. My chest tightens, and my eyes burn again.
“I heard them fighting in the kitchen,” I nearly whisper, “about how my mom had a son, and she…abandoned you.” I clutch my mug harder and finally look up.
He scratches his neck, appearing a little more uncomfortable than he has been. “I had my father, so it was okay.” His throat bobs.
I wonder if Jonathan Hale is nice. Just based off tabloid rumors, I’d say no. (They’re so awful I really hate to repeat them.) Disregarding those, all I have to go on is the fact that he slept with an underage girl—my mom, our mom—and got her pregnant.
He doesn’t sound that awesome, but if he raised someone as cool as Loren Hale, then maybe he’s not entirely bad.
When he swallows, he asks, “Did you confront her about it?” Did I confront my mom about her abandoning you?
I just picture my mom turning her back on me, trying to bury this. I see her never chasing me upstairs. Never chasing me outside. I see her in a new horrible light that I can’t shake. It hurts…
“Yeah,” I say softly, “right then. I asked her about it, and it took some screaming for her to really tell me the truth.”
My voice nearly dies by the last word. I wipe my eyes beneath my glasses, hoping these tears won’t overflow.
He angles closer to me, kind of like he wants to comfort me but still wants to give me personal space. I’m not a touchy-feely person. My mom wasn’t ever that way, and I wonder—I wonder now if it was because of what happened when she was sixteen. Being kind of taken advantage of by Jonathan Hale… I mean, she didn’t say that she said no to him. So I have to assume it was consensual.
But is it consent if she was underage? And the product of this event… is right in front of me.
My stomach knots, the coffee not settling well with these thoughts.
Then Loren says, “I’m sorry you had to find out like that.”
My eyes sear now, tears welling as I realize full-force how much my mom kept him from seeing me. Loren wanted me to know about him.
“I ran away,” I suddenly say, my voice cracking and tears leaking with the words. I’m crying in front of one of the most famous people alive in the world, and I don’t even care anymore. I hate and resent her more than I ever wanted to, and it all hurts.
