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Samantha batted my arm again, “Ah-hah! I detect you’re avoiding taking control of yourissues.”
She got a distressed look on her face, though, after teasing me.
“Oh, my darling! Sorry, sorry! I’m not avoiding … Yes I am. I … don’t know how to manage it any differently than I am. Which is to say, not at all. I never got this way, though. Sick. You’re right.”
Samantha grabbed my admission, “We can start by looking at how you eat and drink throughout the day. Okay?”
Fair enough. I caved in and told her my usual habits. “Ooh, not good enough, baby. You need to do the Tony Stark thing like me!”
And she got all mysterious on me. She nuzzled me and I knew she was waiting for me to pick up on it.
“You? The Tony thing? What’s this about?”
She said, “Before leaving the house every night, I make two green smoothies, just like Pepper Potts did for the mad inventor. One’s all vegetables. One has some greens and lots of fruit. All raw. I drink one before opening as I work and the other mid-morning. Water all day. Then I eat a sandwich with Alex and Amy at noonish. Dinner before turning in. Food and drink—every few hours. When I’ve slept here, I bring extra produce to the shop and make my drinks when I open.”
I considered it. “I could do that, but I’m not much good in a kitchen.”
She looked me in the eye.
Uh-oh. Something in the back of her mind’s gonna hit me right between the eyes.
“Baby, what leads you to invent anything?” She left the question hanging.
“Well, I see a problem and …”
Ahh, okay, I got it. She’d nailed me. “Okay, I get it. I’ve identified a problem, so why not get creative and solve it?”
She was all smiles, “Exactly! See? You just invent a solution.”
I didn’t tell her about my utter failure to find a solution for my (briefly) broken heart during those days and weeks I thought she was with someone else.
I held her and we made out like horny teenagers. But instead of that leading to making love like mature adults, we slept some more.
Samantha
We napped. Again. It had been a long night of no sleep for me and not enough restful sleep for Leighton.
He came back at me though with his earlier question when we woke up.
“Darlin’! Tell me more about life being raised by a big brother. Please?”
I knew his two sisters. But he didn't talk about his family much. But since up till now, I had hardly spoken about my childhood and teen years to anyone, why not?
“Well, I was in junior high. Davie had to take me to school every morning. I couldn't walk anymore because Davie and Jerry lived two miles across town. Davie later admitted to me that he was determined that I would attend school every day without fail. I didn't know until much later that he was trying to keep social services and the foster care system out of our lives.”
Leighton gasped, then whispered to himself, “Oh, my god! I'm sure that my parents thought about social services more than once, too ...”
What an odd thing for him to say!
“I don't know how he and Jerry did it, but the schools never questioned who my guardians were or where I lived. Looking back, I was clean and well-nourished. I attended every day. I wasn't a red flag to them.”
Leighton got pensive again and muttered, “Yeah, my folks, too.”
Since my story apparently stirred up memories of something in his own life, I just sat quietly for a moment.
But he came back to me, “Tell me everything because I don't even know what questions to ask you. I want to know everything though—everything about you, my darling.”
I continued down memory lane, “When Davie and Jerry were at home with Mom and me, we never, ever had Christmas or birthdays. Never any gifts or cards or cake or anything. We later joked that Mom probably didn't remember when we were born anyway. Davie and Jerry decided enough was enough. Jerry’s parents were appalled that he was gay and basically kicked him out when he was 13 or so. He lived with us. I was never really sure if Mom even knew he was there.”
