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“Just one,” he confirms with a nod.
We stare at each other while I debate what I want to know the most.
“Why did you need a fresh start?”
“Straight for the throat, huh?”
I shrug, not in the least sorry. If I’m only getting one question, I’m making it count.
He blows out a breath, looking down at the table. When he looks up again, his face is set in a mask.
“Growing up was a bit…I guess you could say challenging. Before I was born, my mom was a chorus girl and did okay for herself. She was quite a looker. One day, some guy rolls into town. You know the kind—a high roller throwing money around and promising her the world. Well, that world consisted of knocking her up and then disappearing on her. She lost her job and had to resort to…other means to provide for us. That was the beginning of the end for her. That kind of lifestyle wears on you, and I think she turned to drugs and booze to cope. I have a few happy memories of the early days, so I think, in the beginning, things weren’t too bad, but as she got older life got tougher, and she lost herself. The more she lost herself, the more I was left to take care of myself. I fell in with a bad crowd and did things—jobs I’m not proud of—to earn some money to keep Mom and I going.”
“How old were you then?”
“Around fourteen, fifteen.”
“That’s so young,” I breathe, struggling to comprehend what that must have been like. I have my issues with my mom, but at least I had a home and food every day.
He shrugs. “When it comes to surviving, age doesn’t matter much. You do what you need to do. When a couple of days go by without any food in your belly, you learn real quick to boot your morals out the door. I’m not proud of what I’d done, but at least it made me understand my mom’s choices better. She once told me while high that she should have done things differently. That she only kept me because she thought my sperm donor would come back.”
“Damn, I’m sorry.”
“I don’t know if she really meant it or if it was the drugs talking. She was fighting a lot of demons. When she was sober, she wasn’t bad.”
I have a feeling that Kallan’s definition of “bad” and mine might be two completely different things, but I don’t voice it. Opening up like this must make him feel very vulnerable, and I suspect that’s not something he does often.
“Where were her parents? Why didn’t they help her?”
“My grandmother was a very devout woman. She didn’t approve of Mom’s choices, so she had no interest in her problems.”
“Was? Is she still around?”
He shrugs. “No idea. And I don’t intend on ever finding out. I have no place in my life for people who can turn their backs on somebody just because they don’t conform to their vision of what that person should be. Anyway, lucky for me, I met someone who helped me straighten myself out. If not for them, I’m not sure where I’d be today. Jail, most probably. Or dead.”
Just the thought of it makes me shudder. I haven’t known Kallan for long, but the thought of him not being in the world, is something I don’t want to think about.
“And your mom? Where is she now?”
“Her lifestyle finally caught up with her. Or maybe she finally just had enough. Came home one day to find her dead. She overdosed.”
I reach out and take his warm hand in mine. I know it all happened in the past, but I still want to give him comfort. I cannot imagine growing up the way he did.
“I’m so sorry all that happened to you.”
He’s shaking his head before I’ve even stopped talking. “Don’t be. It was hard, and do I wish my childhood was different? Yes, I do. I wish my mom didn’t have to lead the life she did and that her story didn’t end the way it did, but it did. No amount of wishing will change things. And at the end of the day, all of that played a part in shaping me into the person I am now. So, to answer your question, my childhood and the memories associated with it are part of why I wanted a fresh start.”
“And the other part, does that have—”
“Nope,” he says, interrupting me. “That’s a different question, and you only get one. Now it’s my turn.”
I make the most innocent face I’m capable of, hoping he’ll let me off the hook and ask something else. Something easy and mundane, like where I went to school or where do I see myself in ten years. However, that last one might be difficult to answer right now.
I should have known better. The side of his mouth quirks into that barely-there smile, but it’s enough to tell me he’s not falling for it.
“Suddenly, my problems feel so small.” I sigh, dropping my eyes to my finger that’s tracing squiggly lines on the tablecloth.
“Hey, don’t do that,” he says, ducking down his head to catch my eye. “Don’t compare or minimize what you’re feeling. You’re entitled to your feelings, no matter how big or small.”
