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“Poor.” A small shudder runs through me.
Still squinting, he works his lower lip. My response registers and I want to hit, kick, and throat punch myself.Rude. Worse, I’ve made it all about me. Again. “I’m so sorry, Marco. I shouldn’t have said that.”
“There are worse things than being poor, you know?” There’s a tiny, unfamiliar edge to his tone.
“Oh, I know. I mean, you guys may not have had much, but you had good parents. A good family.”
“A great family.”
I nod, thinking about my family of origin and the disaster my adoption averted. At least I think a disaster was thwarted, but I’ve been wondering lately how much dysfunction is genetic. “I am sorry for what I said, Marco. We could blame the altitude for my lack of filter?”
Weighing something out, he finally sighs, and a mischievous smile replaces the frown. “Annalise unfiltered. Hmm.”
“It sounds like a bad cable show.”
“It sounds interesting.”
“Well, you’re getting the preview, so you be the judge.”
He chuckles.
“I’ve been thinking a lot lately about…my mom.”
“Your birth mom.” Phrased as a statement, it’s obvious he is accompanying me on the same wavelength.
Nodding, I sigh. “She called me a few weeks ago. Funny, I’d never even thought of hunting her down. We talked a couple times and she wanted to get together, but I wasn’t ready for that.”
“I’m guessing you haven’t told your family?”
See, on the same wavelength. “No. That would only have made things worse.”
“Or it could have lightened the load. Families are good like that sometimes.”
Maybe. “I did look up her address one day, then cut class and drove three hours to East Texas and went down her street.” I pick at my thumbnail. Why am I doing this to myself? To a day that’s been near perfect. “She lives in this dumpy little town in a crappy mobile home. Junk and kids’ toys scattered all over the yard.” I look up. “Did I tell you I have five more siblings?” I hold up my hand, spreading my fingers wide to emphasize. “Five. And if I’m understanding her story right, none of us has the same dad.”
His green eyes round ever so slightly.
I scratch furiously at the cuticle on my thumb. “What if…”
What am I thinking? I can’t legitimize my fear, much less to this man who got in so deep when all he wanted was a simple hookup.
“What if momma’s a tramp so daughter is too?”
Hearing it spoken is like the twist of a knife, but I’m glad he spared me having to say it. I nod, freaking scared to death of his answer.
“I can’t speak for your mom—your birth mother, that is—but you are not a tramp, Annalise.”
“How can you say that?” Of all the people on this planet.
“I can say it because I’ve known a few um,tramps, in my day, so trust me on this one. Maybe you act out a little when you’re hurting. That doesn’t make you of low character.”
“Maybe my mom was hurting too.”
He holds my gaze for a moment and I’m pretty sure he’s not buying it. “Maybe so.”
Something rises up in me. “I don’t know why the guys get off without all the judgment. Nobody calls them nasty stuff. It isn’t fair.”
His face goes all pensive for several seconds, until he slaps his thighs and stands. “No, it is not—but now you’re just getting personal.”
