"I learned to cook a long time ago," he explained. "My dad made sure of that." He sounded oddly sad as he said it. I wondered…
“Is your dad…?” I trailed off.
“He's doing good,” he said. "He's a lawyer. Actually helped read through my first record contract."
"And your mom?"
He paused, the hand holding the knife hovering in mid-air.
“She’s across the country. Her and my dad split when I was a kid. That's why it was dad who taught me to cook. Mom wasn't around."
“They divorced?”
“Yeah. It's fine.” Liam shrugged but his pained eyes belied his casual pose. “They weren’t happy together anyway."
"Lots of fighting and yelling?" I guessed.
He cast his gaze down before retuning to the cutting board.
"No. I had no idea things were bad. Until—"
Liam pressed his lips together and sliced through a bell pepper with more force than needed.
I hesitated. "Can I ask what happened?"
"She left him for another guy. Left us. Went off and started another family. Haven't heard from her in years." Liam said the words so fast I also thought I misheard.
“I’m so sorry.”
“It’s fine." He shrugged, but he clearly wasn't. His mother leaving him had hurt. "I have some good memories of growing up. Like my dad teaching me to cook.” The tension between his brows softened. "My sister and I used to stand on a little stool and watch him in the kitchen when we were young. He never wanted us living off frozen pizzas and take out when we grew up."
A pang of jealousy shot through me, even though I knew it was petty.
“My dad bought me my first guitar," he continued. "He was sure it was just a phase and I'd never put the time in to practice, but I insisted I was serious about it. When he saw my band perform for the first time, he admitted he'd been wrong." He smiled softly. "He was so proud of me that day."
A hollow feeling ate at my stomach.
"What about your parents?" he asked. "Did they support your music?"
"Not really," I murmured. "My mom raised us alone. She was young. She tried her best, but…" I shrugged. "A young single mom working two jobs who went out partying every weekend with her friends didn't really have time to worry about nurturing her kid's hopes and dreams."
Liam's expression turned sympathetic. "It sounds like you and your brother raised yourselves."
"It seemed normal at the time," I said. "All our friends growing up had similar stories. It's like we used to say:broken homes and broken windows."
"Broken windows?" Liam repeated with a furrow brow. "Did you grow up in a bad part of town?"
"I suppose," I said reluctantly. "It wasn't the sort of place you'd want to wander around at night, that's for sure."
His eyebrows now shot up. "You're saying it was unsafe? Just how bad was it? Drugs, violence?"
Unsafe. Violence.
Every muscle in my body immediately tensed. This conversation was wandering too close to all kinds of stuff I didn't want resurfacing.
"What kind of pasta are you cooking?" I came around the island counter and popped one of the cherry tomatoes into my mouth. Liam batted my hand away with a light swat.
"No sneaking bites before dinner." He was eyeing me curiously. "If you didn't have much growing up, where you'd get your first guitar?"
