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“Not at all,” Ramsey said. “We were just talking about picking up dinner. Do you want to hang with Lily while Dee and I run to pick something up?”
“Why don’t you two go have dinner and me and Lily will hang out here and have pizza?” Izzy suggested.
I wondered if she was trying to set us up. Did she know? How could Ramsey have possibly told her already? I had yet to tell Colleen.
“I know what you’re doing.” Ramsey laughed.
“I haven’t got to hang out with my niece in weeks,” Izzy pouted. “I’m sure you guys can find something to do. Please?”
Ramsey looked at me like he was asking my permission. I shrugged, letting him know it made no difference to me.
“Fine, but pizza, not a bunch of crap,” he warned Izzy.
“Do you want to see our paintings?” Lily asked her.
“Absolutely,” Izzy said. “You two have fun,” she added with a wink.
She definitely knew.
“I’ll grab my keys,” Ramsey said.
When we got into the car, I turned to him. “Why do I feel like your sister was trying to push us into spending time alone?”
“Because that’s what my sister is always trying to do,” he replied. “Don’t read too much into it. She usually hangs out with Lily for a little while on the weekends. I think she’s bored. Cam was going to be doing something in the lab today.”
I accepted the explanation. He drove us to the Chinese restaurant I knew he and Lily were both very fond of judging by the number of containers I found in the fridge all the time. We were quickly seated. Ramsey ordered for both of us. I didn’t get to eat actual Chinese food all that often, so didn’t know fried rice from potstickers.
“Never had Chinese, huh?”
“Does the buffet count?” I asked.
He wrinkled his nose. “It almost counts, but this is definitely better.”
“I’m anxious to try it,” I said. “I usually ate whatever I could snag at the diner.”
“Did your parents like Chinese?”
I smiled at his very lame attempt to ask me about my life. “Smooth.”
He grinned. “I’m curious about you. I want to know what makes Dee tick.”
“You’re worried about my little freakout at dinner last night,” I guessed.
“I’m not worried, I’m just curious. I recognized the trauma in your eyes.”
“You?”
“A friend,” he said. “Izzy as well. She went through some pretty tough stuff recently.”
I nodded with understanding. “Well, are you sure you want to hear my sordid story.”
“Yes.” He nodded.
I felt a knot of nervousness twist in my stomach. Opening up about my childhood wasn’t an easy task. He deserved to know my story—the raw and painful chapters that had shaped who I was. I was the woman taking care of his daughter. Taking a deep breath, I mustered the courage to share the fragments of my past. I began to peel back the layers of my upbringing. Memories that had long been tucked away resurfaced, demanding to be heard.
“My childhood wasn’t easy,” I began, my voice trembling slightly. “My parents… they struggled with addiction, and alcohol was a constant presence in our home. The alcohol typically resulted in violence.”
“Toward you?” he asked with his jaw clenched.
