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“So, if it wasn’t for my sister, what brings you to Firefly?”
“Um, I’m here to visit someone.” My father always said less is more when it came to communicating. He drilled into his staff and by association, me, that answers should never give more information than what the question posed.
Short. Concise. No fluff.
That conditioning had stuck with me. As much as I appreciated the practicality of the lesson, I did realize that it might also be why I felt so awkward in social settings.
“Who is the someone?”
His energy had shifted from a laid-back vibe to a crackling tension. I couldn’t be sure, but I thought I detected a smidge of jealousy.
“Mrs. B, er, um, Mrs. Beasley.”
“Really?” That seemed to come as more of a shock to him than my lack of social media accounts.
I nodded. “She was my nanny.”
“Really?” He repeated.
“Until I was seven. That’s when my mom passed away and I went to live with my dad.”
“Cheyenne mentioned that. I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry for your loss as well.”
“Were you close to your dad? I mean before you moved in with him?”
“No.”
“That must’ve been really hard.”
I was trying to get used to someone being so attentive to me, but it still wasn’t comfortable. So, I decided to put the focus back on him. “What about you? I know that Cheyenne went to live with your grandparents. Did you stay with your dad?”
“Sort of. I mean, yes, he lived in the house that I lived in. But he wasn’t really there. Hank basically raised Billy and me.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah, Pop had always been a big drinker, but before mom died, he was what I think people refer to as a functioning alcoholic. That’s what I’ve picked up from what my brothers tell me, anyway. But after she was gone, he went straight to non-functioning alcoholic.”
“That must’ve been difficult for you and your brothers.”
“I’m sure it was for my brothers but to be honest, I don’t really have that many memories from before my mom was gone. I mean, I have some, but they’re all sort of fuzzy. I don’t know if they’re real memories or just things I’ve imagined because of stories I’ve heard or pictures I’ve seen.”
I nodded, unsure of what to say.
“What about you? Do you remember a lot about your mom?”
I didn’t have an answer right away. No one ever asked me about her. Which I supposed made sense, considering ninety percent of the people I interacted with were my father’s employees. Why would they bring her up?
“Not really. My dad left when I was four, and after that she sort of checked out. Most of the memories I have of my mom are of her being in bed.”
“In bed?”
Shit. I’d said too much. If I told Jimmy about her condition and didn’t tell him about mine, would that be lying?
“She was depressed. I mean, she was never formally diagnosed but it was pretty obvious looking back.”
“Yeah, I’m pretty sure Pop had some issues going on that weren’t diagnosed either.”
As much as I wanted to ask him more about his family and upbringing, I knew that if I did, I would be opening up the door for him to ask me about mine.
So instead, I tilted my head up and looked at the stars. It wasn’t a bad view, but I had to admit, the one beside me was much better.
