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I watch him make us both a drink. He adds ice and tonic to my gin, nothing to his whiskey, then joins me at the table.
“Thanks,” I say, taking the glass. “Did you slip anything else into it?”
“How did you guess?” he says sarcastically. “Hey, are you okay? That didn’t look like a family reunion you wanted.”
I shrug. “I’m fine.”
“You don’t look fine. Your eyes are ringed with a red line and your face is pale.”
“This is just my face.”
It’s a crap defence. I usually have colour to my cheeks and clear eyes. I can imagine what I look like, and it’s not pretty.
“No, it’s not. What’s going on with you and your mum?”
I take a long swig of gin. “Nothing.”
“It didn’t look like nothing.”
“It was. She’s not…”
He waits patiently, though I can tell my pause is killing him.
On a sigh, I launch right into it. “You know that my parents weren’t around much because my dad was in and out of prison constantly. When he was in, Mum was somewhat present. When he was home, she couldn’t be bothered with me. I spent a lot of time with my aunt and uncle. Mum was always dropping me off there for days or weeks at a time.”
He nods, already kind of knowing this much.
“The times I was home were lonely. It didn’t seem weird back then. I mean, I was a kid, and it was normal for me to be alone. I thought nothing of getting my own meals, which was a terribly made sandwich with chunks of butter because I was four… or dry cereal.”
“I’m sorry,” he says.
“It was only when she didn’t come back to collect me from my aunt and uncle’s that I realised my life with them was wrong. Aunt Jess and Uncle Bill prepared my food, they took me out, they made sure I had clothes that fit properly, and that I bathed every night. Someone walked me to school in the mornings and helped me with my reading book.”
I take a large sip of my drink. “I remember being upset for the first time because I understood that my mum didn’t want to be my mum. She didn’t do any of that stuff. The best I got, when he was inside, was the odd pizza dinner and sometimes a packet of sweets.”
Casper listens without so much as blinking. The only way I know he’s breathing is because he hasn’t fallen to the floor yet.
“How old were you when she…? You know.”
When my mother ditched me.
“He was out, and his probation finished when I was five—almost six. They dropped me off at my aunt and uncle’s with a bag. I assumed it would be for the weekend or something, only they never came back.”
I take another sip of my gin and try to ignore the tugging in my chest.
“Today is the first time I’ve seen her since I was about fifteen. You can guess why. She popped up a few times over the years when my dad was getting out of prison.”
“Bastards,” he growls under his breath.
“She picked him every time,” I say, gently swirling my drink in the glass, watching bubbles drift to the surface. “I wasn’t enough.”
“No. Hey, fuck that. That’s not true. None of this is your fault. Children don’t drive anyone away. Some parents are just shitty.”
His words are filled with a nice sentiment, but the fact is clear: my mum didn’t want me. It wasn’t my fault, but it was still true. I look away from him as tears begin to sting behind my eyes. I can’t let him see me cry a second time.
“Are you okay now? I don’t want you to blame yourself. There is no way you could have known this would happen,” I say.
“I’m fine,” he replies, not even trying to be convincing.
