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“Do you?” he questions.
I meet his gaze, “I’d like that,” I reply. He looks down at me like he is skeptical.
“I can’t imagine how you’re feeling after everything. I wouldn’t want to add to that.”
“You won’t,” I reassure, “I promise.”
There is a pause. A long one. He finished tossing all the ingredients with the strained pasta and drizzled olive oil over everything.
Why am I so invested in his relationship with his parents?
That isn’t any of my business; he was trying to relate and make me feel better and less alone, and of course, I ruined it.
“All right,” he says, cutting off my current self-deprecating thoughts. “Let’s talk.”
Chapter twelve
Vulnerabilities Disclosed
Thepenthouse—asbigasit is—is too suffocating. We sit outside on the balcony, enjoying the night sky, though its stars are dimmed by the warm balcony lights, keeping us from being enveloped by the darkness. Evan enjoys his pasta, and I patiently wait for him to finish. I don’t want to keep him talking between bites, but he doesn’t mind since he starts the conversation.
“So, what were your parents like?” he questions.
“To put it bluntly, they sucked.”
Overnight, I went from drifting to the recesses of his mind to living with him. I shouldn’t be lounging on patio couches, ready to share childhood traumas with Evan Blackburn. But, I earn an amused huff from out his nose, so I allow us to be casual, for me to be relaxed.
“Neglectful was how my therapist described them,” I utter.
“How would you describe them?” he inquires.
I take in a deep breath, “Not too sure…um, lost, perhaps,” I settle on the word. Evan nods like he understands exactly what I mean, though I'm not sure myself.
“Think they could’ve been decent parents with better circumstances? If they were better prepared? Can’t blame them because maybe they didn’t have good role models themselves?” he steals the words right out of my head.
“Yeah, “ I exhale, “but I’m not that understanding most often. I wish they’d been better…y’know? They didn’t have to be superstar model parents, but they didn’t try. I couldn’t tell you why they decided to have a kid. I thought it’d get easier as I grew up. It’d be easier to talk to them now that we’re all adults, but it wasn’t. I ended up clinging tohimfor support.”
My teeth gnaw at my lip as I wonder if I should stop being so vague. The urge to tell Evan is becoming too strong to resist. I hadn’t had anyone to talk to in so long, “Why was I the one who needed to figure out how to heal instead of them?”
I tuck my hands under me because it's warm, and I don’t know what to do with them.
“My mother told me to…off myself, and my father accused me of getting pregnant with no proof—used that as an excuse to kick me out,” I wonder if the neutral tone I'm using sounds as convincing as it does to my ears. “All because I confronted them about all the thingstheydid…Well, I guess they didn’t do all the things while I grew up.” Though the tickle of laughter hasn’t filled my chest, I huff a laugh.
Evan places down his bowl, and his face is heavy with a frown and furrowed eyebrows. But he doesn’t interrupt.
“They did the classic emotionally absent parent stuff. Missed birthdays and school events. I never got any toys or gifts. No hugs because they were always too tired or busy to tuck me into bed, play with me, or answer questions. They made time for everything except me.” I'm reaching my limit, “Similar parents?” I ask.
He shakes his head, “Quite the opposite. It was just my dad and me after my mother passed away when I was three—rest her soul—so I grew up being taught strong family ideals. Much too strong.” He takes a sip of the tea he made before we decided to sit out on the balcony. “My grandfather was an ass.”
I snort, caught off guard by the profanity.
“What, I can’t cuss?” he smirks.
“No, no, go ahead,” I press my lips together and cover my mouth with a hand, chuckling.
“My grandfather was the most traditional man you’d ever meet. He prided himself on beatings and punishments, and so my father prided those things too.” My suppressed smile dissipates into a purple-ish blotch of anger and sadness. “My grandfather could gouge out my father’s eyes. He’d still be right there next to him, serving him like a king while being treated like a dog, giving him money when we couldn’t afford to, sending him gifts, and spending days at his house to clean and cook for him. I remember he got fired from his job for missing too many days because he was so intent on visiting his father. He could’ve done it without allowing my grandfather to keep him there more than he had time for. He had no self-respect.”
“Oh, goodness,” I sigh.
