“I don’t care that you’re twenty-three,” she says gently, “but some people will—kids in Beck’s class or parents, people in town. It’s something we’re going to have to deal with.”
“Are you okay with it?”
“Here in this room I couldn’t care less. But I can’t tell you I won’t be upset or angry outside our little bubble if comments are made.”
“I guess that’s fair,” I say, rolling my neck toward her as I open my eyes. “It’s not something we can change.”
“Just like you getting a vasectomy at eighteen?” she asks a little sheepishly and I grin.
“Yeah, in my head, I imagined the moment I told you going differently.”
“Will you tell me about it?”
I blow out a breath, the air making an audible whoosh as I stare up at the ceiling.
“I told you the day we met my father murdered my mother.” I let out a humorless laugh. “Classic first date material.”
“Definitely,” she agrees.
“But it was the night of my fifth birthday.” Lana gasps, but I don’t look at her as I continue. “We lived in this apartment and one of the neighbors heard the screaming and called the police. But I was there. I saw it.” I swallow, sparing her the details of something that would haunt me forever.
Bodhi couldn’t remember the night his parents died, but I could.
I remember everything.
“I was placed with my aunt, my mom’s sister. I told you that too. They’d been close and she’d begged my mom to leave my father, but she never had a chance.”
“It’s unimaginable.”
Turning to look at her again, I give her a sad smile. “When she died two years later, I was put into the system. It was the last time I had a home until we came here. Everything in between was just temporary. Having the surgery gave me something permanent. It was something I could control.”
“And you never thought about reversing it?”
I shake my head as I sit up. “His blood runs through my veins, and even though I work tirelessly not to be him, I never want to take that chance. It stops with me.”
“It stopped with him,” she says vehemently as I cup her cheek in my palm, my thumb brushing over her smooth skin.
“I’ve never had to tell anyone that story.”
“Thank you for trusting me with it.”
“And I need you to respect that I don’t celebrate my birthday.”
“Because of your mom,” she says, her brows furrowing. “When is it?”
“End of January. I have a little reprieve until it comes around again.”
“The kids will ask—Holland will at least. It’s the one thing we’ve always done big for them.”
“And I want to celebrate the hell out of them. And you. But can this be something we just table for now? I know we’ll have to figure something out but I just…I just don’t have it in me tonight.”
“Of course.” She runs her fingers over my arm. “What happened to your mother is horrific, but it also makes me sad you’ve never been able to celebrate another year around the sun. I guess the milestones sound silly but I mean…” She worries her bottom lip, and I smile despite myself because no one besides Bodhi has ever cared.
“Bodhi gets me a candy bar, leaves it on the table for me. We don’t talk about it, but it’s something he’s always done.” I chuckle. “Pretty sure he stole it that first year.”
“That’s really sweet.”
“Shoplifting?”
