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Is that what we were? Friends? The word turned my stomach to knots. The whole situation added to those knots.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” Oma said. “Come, let me get you a glass of lemonade.”
“That sounds lovely.”
The two were immediately acting like the best of friends.
I realized then that Layana didn’t simply like fighting, she liked fightingwith me.Any nervousness I’d felt about her coming here immediately evaporated as I watched the two of them compliment each other on their clothing and accessories.
We took seats on the porch, where Oma set up lemonade and snacks.
“Give me all the dirt,” Layana said, with a megawatt smile. “Tell me what Gabriel was like as a kid.”
Oma chuckled. “He was a fiery little thing, using trouble as a way to get attention.”
Layana leaned forward.“Really?”
I watched her react, nervously waiting to see what she would do next.
“He’s so private and reserved with others now,” Oma said, “but he wasn’t like that at all when he was little. Poor little thing had a rough time of it.”
My heart caught in my throat. I didn’t expect childhood trauma to be on the table.
Why hadn’t I thought this over? Why hadn’t I laid down the groundwork of what conversations were appropriate for discussion?
“Rough how?” Layana asked.
Oma shot me a questioning look that asked if it was all right to share.
My heart beat hard in my chest, so hard I thought it might burst. I gave her a nod.
“After his father died. Anyone would be angry about that, and Gabriel was only eleven.”
“That sucks. I’m so sorry.” Layana looked at me with something other than pity. Though I couldn’t quite understand it, it made a lump form in my throat.
“Being raised by a single mom must have been rough,” Layana said.
“My mother left when I was a baby,” I said, the words sounding foreign in my ears. “Oma raised me. I never knew my mother.”
Silence settled around the table. I twisted my glass, focusing on the cold moisture on the smooth surface.
“That’s…I’m so sorry,” Layana said again. “This is a beautiful area. I bet you and Esme had a lot of fun running around when you were kids. How much older is she?”
“Esme’s nine years younger than Gabriel,” Oma said.
Confusion squished up Layana’s features. “Is she your half-sister?”
“No,” I said.
When I didn’t elaborate, Oma said, “Their mother came by back then, a few times.”
The implication hung in the air. She’d come back long enough to get knocked up a second time. And again to drop off Esme.
“Did you spend time with her while she was in Epiphany?” Layana asked.
“She wasn’t interested in knowing me, or Esme. She was only around long enough to break Dad’s heart again. No, I did not spend time with her,” I said, with enough force to end the conversation. Dad’s heart wasn’t the only one she’d broken.
Oma cleared her throat and smiled at Layana. “Well, tell me about you, dear.”
