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She pointed at me while she drank some more. "You know what they say, be careful what you wish for. Only I didn't wish for him. Bruce couldn’t have children, so I was their dirty little secret, apparently. The secret being they were swingers."
"In Bells Pass?" I registered my surprised tone but couldn't control it.
"Saginaw," she said with a flick of her wrist at some imaginary dust. "I could have lived the rest of my life without knowing that about Brenda."
"Understandable. He still raised you, though, so maybe in a way that does make him your father."
Her snort was loud and obnoxious as a response. "He's only on the birth certificate to protect their reputation in the town. It’s hard not to notice that I’m darker skinned than both my parents. It's not a recessive gene. I can't believe I bought that line."
I grasped her hand so she would stop brushing it across the couch. "Sweetheart, you were a kid. You had no way of knowing he wasn't your father."
"Except by the way he treated me, maybe. It sure does explain all the passive aggressive comments about how I crimped their style. Not to mention all the weekends I spent alone after I turned twelve. He was right all those years he called me stupid. I should have realized how much he hated me a lot sooner than I did."
"He was the one who called you stupid? I had your mom pegged for that one."
"Her too," she agreed on a nod. "But he was great at lauding my every failure as if it were a win. He always told me I wore my stupid loud and proud."
"Gumdrop," I sighed, scooting closer and pulling her in for a hug. "He was wrong. I'm sorry. You didn't deserve that kind of treatment." I rubbed her back patiently until she leaned into me a bit more.
"Bruce had a stroke a few years back and Brenda couldn't care for him at home anymore, so she put him in the nursing home. I haven't seen either of them since I graduated. I don't intend to change that now."
"He made his bed and now he lies in it," I whispered. "I can respect your choice, as long as you won't have any regrets in not getting closure."
"That ship sailed, Lance. He doesn't comprehend anything. He's had early onset and swiftly moving dementia since the stroke. He has no idea who I am after all these years and that's something to be thankful for as far as I'm concerned."
I released her and leaned back against the couch. "I can't help but wonder why your mother came looking for you now."
Indie's eyes rolled so far into her head she struggled to bring them forward facing again. "Brenda doesn't like being alone. She probably thinks once he's gone, she can rekindle our relationship."
"That ship sailed too?" I asked, already knowing the answer.
"All the way across the ocean," she said with a chuckle. "She chose him over me every time and that told me more than any words ever could."
"Guilty by default."
"No, she had fault," she argued, sitting up and setting her glass down on the coffee table. "We all know Brenda never wanted me either. I was a punishment in their eyes. They wanted their own kids, but were saddled with someone else’s. Yes, she’s my biological mom, but Bruce had no part in my conception. It took me a long time to understand that I didn’t have to be like Bruce or Brenda.”
I tipped my head. "They never had any more children."
"Nope, because Bruce is sterile. Apparently, when I was born and the doctor mentioned,” which she put in quotation marks, “my darker coloring, Bruce took a paternity test. Turns out, he was not the father.”
I bit back my smile because she could make fun of herself, but I couldn’t. “And that’s how he found out he was sterile?”
“I guess so. The two of them finally put their heads together to realize they’d been married for five years and she hadn’t gotten pregnant until they weren’t careful during their extracurriculars. Maybe God knew we didn't need Bruce sharing his gene pool with the world."
"I wish like hell you hadn't gone through that."
Her shoulder shrug was nonchalant, but I could see it was anything but flippant. "We all have our cross to bear, right?"
"Now I understand why you didn't move back in with your parents when you needed a place."
"I would have lived on the street first. Sorry to be a downer. I'll stop complaining now."
"You're not being a downer," I assured her, leaning in until our foreheads touched. "And you're not complaining. You're explaining your past. That's the only way we can get to know each other better, Gumdrop."
“You’re a good listener, Lance. Tomorrow is Thanksgiving and I’m thankful for you. I don’t want to deal with this at all, but you’re making it a little bit easier.”
“I’m glad,” I whispered, squeezing her hand. “Maybe we’ll make it through the next month after all.”
