Page 40 of On His Knees
I laugh. “Any brothers or sisters?” I ask.
“No, it was just my dad and me growing up. How about you?”
Acid punches into my throat as I think back to the day Mom walked away from me. So we were both raised by our dads. “Only child, too.”
“What?” she asks, and puts her hand on mine, obviously picking up on my tension.
“I...uh...always wanted siblings though.” That’s not a lie. It was a lonely existence in the big mansion with no other kids. I get that I had it good, and I hate to lament on that when others had it way worse.
“Me, too.”
“You didn’t have a mom?” I ask.
Her chest expands as she draws in a fast breath, and there is a new kind of sadness about her. “Mom died due to complications after my birth.”
Shit, I hadn’t expected that. “I’m so sorry.”
She toys with her noodles, running her fork through them, almost absentmindedly, like her thoughts are a million miles away. “I don’t usually talk about this, Tate.”
“Bartender,” I say,
and lean in to give her a little nudge. “Good listener, remember. We have a confidentiality oath.”
She rolls her eyes, goes quiet for a moment, then begins, “It’s just... I’m sorry I never got to know her.” Her shoulders touch her ears, and then she relaxes again. “According to Dad she was an amazing woman.”
“If you’re anything like her, I can believe that.” She forces a smile and puts her plate down beside her. I hand her the wine. She takes a sip, and leans into me, using my body for support. “It was just your dad raising you, and he was a construction worker?”
“You’re right, you don’t forget anything, and yes, it was just Dad and me. He never remarried. He said he couldn’t. Mom was the love of his life.” She smiles up at me. “It’s sad, but it’s so sweet, too.” I go quiet as she opens up to me, telling me something painful and private. “People aren’t like that anymore. Marriages are way more disposable today.”
“You’re right. After Mom left us, my father had dozens of women come and go. He’s off in Bali on his honeymoon with his fourth wife. She’s not much older than you.” Why am I telling her this? I must be losing my fucking mind. I never open up, to anyone. Not even my college buddies that I still keep in touch with. But the truth is, her opening up to me makes me want to be honest with her. Out of guilt, or something deeper? Either way, it feels good to get that off my chest.
“Oh, Tate. I’m sorry. That can’t be easy.”
“I’m fine with it, I guess. I want him to be happy, you know.” And protected from gold diggers, too. Though, I was too far away to intervene when he started dating wife number four. I set my plate aside and put my arm around her. We go quiet for a moment, lost in thought. I curl her hair around my finger, and she snuggles in closer. Who knew that outside of our compatibility in the bedroom, we’d have something else in common.
“Neither of us had a mom growing up,” she says quietly, her thoughts obviously on the same track as mine. “Tate.”
“Yeah.”
“I’m sorry your mom left you.” She puts a comforting hand on my thigh and gives a squeeze.
“It’s okay.”
“Do you have any other family members?”
“I have some aunts, uncles and cousins. But I’m really close to my granddad,” I say. “He’s a good man. The best. He was always there for me, for all his grandchildren, actually.” I pinch the bridge of my nose. “He’s not well. I can’t even imagine the void I’m going to have in my life when he’s gone.”
“I’m sorry.” A pause and then she asked, “How old were you when your mom left?”
My breath hitches when my mind rewinds to the day she stood in the doorway with her suitcase. She smiled at me, told me to be a good boy, and just like that she left, never to be heard from again. “Six. Old enough to understand I didn’t matter to her.”
“Damn.” She leans into me. “You matter, Tate. This is on her, not you, but believe me, I get how we blame ourselves.” I’m about to ask what she blames herself for when she says, “For as long as I can remember, I always wanted to make something of myself, get a good education, a high-paying job and become a responsible member of society.”
“Yeah?”
“My dream was to move Dad from our Brooklyn apartment to a luxurious home in Manhattan.” She gives me a wobbly smile. “I think he would have liked that. Would have been so proud to see me succeed in life.”
“And?” I ask, encouraging her to elaborate. Her throat makes a choking little sound, and I look at her. My heart squeezes at the sadness on her face, the water pooling in her eyes. Goddammit, these memories are hard on her. I feel like a prick for prying, but what choice do I have? I’m so close to getting some real answers, and I still feel protective of Granddad. “He died of a heart attack before I could ever make that happen. I wasn’t even with him at the time, couldn’t do anything to help him.” She chokes on a sob, and I run my hand up and down her arm.