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Dahlia licked her lips, her hand trembling like she didn’t know if she could keep painting or reach for him. She chose the former, and he was relieved for that. He didn’t want that sort of comfort. It would only make him feel more like a freak.
“She took a lot of drugs, and one night, she was out of her mind, and she…well.” He closed his eyes and breathed out. “I got hurt, and a school counselor noticed. Then CPS got called, and the next thing I knew, I was being carted to the other side of the country to live with my dad.”
“I bet he was glad to have you back,” she said softly.
Emil couldn’t help another bitter laugh. “He wasn’t actually there. His assistant picked me up from the airport and handed me three credit cards and the keys to a Porsche. I didn’t even have a license,” he added. He glanced over at Dahlia, who was focused on her mug, but he could see her eyes darting over to steal glances at him. “I didn’t see my dad for the first eight months that I was there.”
“I don’t know what to say,” she finally admitted.
Emil laughed. “Neither do I. I just…kind of blocked it all out, I guess. But I told you I was fucked-up.”
“Traumatized,” she corrected.
“Feels like the same thing.” He twisted a fan brush, creating little nonsense patterns. They were hideous, but Dahlia had a point. It was meditative, and he didn’t need to make it worthy of a gallery display. He’d shove it into one of his cupboards when it was done and never look at it again.
But not because it was worthless.
“Is this why you haven’t called Renzo,” she asked after a long beat of silence.
Emil groaned and hung his head. “Yes. Well…no and yes. I don’t know how to do this relationship thing. I don’t know how to tell him that my entire childhood went from my mom’s delusions to my dad’s neglect, and that turned me into some monster that I chose to be instead of becoming a better person than they were.”
“I mean, you’re here,” she said. “They’re not, and you’re—” The rest of her sentence was cut off when her phone began to ring, and she let out a string of curse words before picking up. “Give me a second.” She covered the mouthpiece. “I have to take this outside. It’s gonna be like thirty minutes. Finish your mug.”
And then she was gone before he could remind her that she was the one who said sitting there painting a mug alone was the worst form of social humiliation.
“Hi, Santa.”
Emil jumped in his seat, then spun around, his eyes going wide at the sight of Matty. He was dressed in the green uniform apron of the painting shop, and he was twisting his fingers in front of him like he wasn’t sure what to do with his hands.
“Matty,” he said with a grin. “You know I’m not Santa, right?”
Matty rolled his eyes. “Iknow. And it’s okay if I say that right now because there’s no kids in here.”
Emil set his brush down and stood up. “I didn’t know you worked here.”
Matty puffed his chest out proudly. “I’ve been here for five years and seven months, and I’ve been employee of the month three times.”
Emil grinned wider. “Amazing. I didn’t see you before when I came in.”
Matty shook his head. “No. Because I wasn’t on my shift. I’m not on my shift, but sometimes I’m allowed to come in one half hour early if I want to paint something. Did you see what I painted? They put them on the shelf.” He pointed to a row by the window Emil hadn’t noticed.
“Those are way better than mine.”
Matty’s gaze cut down to Emil’s mug, and then he nodded. “Yes. But it’s okay because I’ve been doing this a lot longer than you.”
Emil hid a laugh. “Why don’t you sit with me…if you’re allowed.”
Matty’s eyes cut to Dahlia’s abandoned mug. “But…”
“Oh, she had to take a work call. She’ll be gone half an hour, and she won’t mind if she gets back early.”
Matty looked over his shoulder. “I usually sit over there.”
“Oh, I?—”
“But it’s okay to be different sometimes,” he interrupted. “You can sit down and wait for me.”
“Got it, boss,” Emil said with a small laugh and resumed his work as Matty got his paints and then took Dahlia’s seat. “Do you know what you’re going to do today?”
