Home, where I choose to be. So maybe the choice wasn’t made from a wide selection, but there were at least two choices, and I picked this one, and it’s one more choice than I’ve ever had.
He asks me what I want to listen to on the radio. Laurel likes classical, but he likes rock, so he has a playlist made of rock lullabies and rock songs played on violin and piano.
But he asked me what I wanted to pick. He asks if I want to stop and get something at one of the all-night fast food places on the highway, and even though my stomach gurgles, I say no.
I want to get home.
“You can always whip up something with what’s left in the fridge. I—uh... I have to go grocery shopping soon.”
“I can’t cook,” I suddenly blurt out.Should I have told him that? Is that a deal breaker?“I wasn’t allowed to learn. But I can learn. I’m a fast learner, I—”
“Whoa, dude. Don’t panic,” Artie’s voice is so relaxed. Not angry like Barton’s.
I find myself sinking back into the seat, muscles unclenching for the first time since dawn yesterday.
“I’ll cook the meals. I’m not great at it, but I can make some things. We can learn together.” Artie gives me an encouraginggrin. “In my last group home, they had some cooking classes, but I wasn’t allowed to cook ‘unsupervised’ whenever I was in a foster home or the group home. They thought all of us kids were juvies or pyros. I rented a room when I went to college, and the lady let me cook in the shared kitchen. I make a mean grilled cheese.” Artie laughs, but then turns serious, “Laurel is only on formula right now, but I do want to make sure I learn how to cook healthy things.”
I nod, trying to remember what I ate when I was a kid. If I ever enjoyed it. I remember Sarah making things— lots of fish. Fried fish. Grilled fish. Mac and cheese once. I loved that and asked for more, and... I never got it again.
I wonder if Barton saw that it made me happy, so I wasn’t allowed to have it.
“Can you make macaroni and cheese?” I ask softly.
“Heck, yeah. One of my specialties. And not the cheap powdered-add-water stuff I lived on in college. No. The... Well, I mean, it’s pasta, butter, salt, pepper, cheddar, milk, dried mustard, and paprika. It’s still cheap. Look, I know you’re probably wondering why I don’t have money to pay you—”
“No, I was thinking that I’m very happy to be heading somewhere with someone who sounds like a patient man and a good dad.”
Artie nodded. Cleared his throat. “Your dad not so much?”
“Not at all.”
“Never met mine. And you might as well know that Laurel isn’t mine biologically. I found her abandoned, and I adopted her. Unofficially. I’d like to make it official, but with the way she looks, I’m afraid that may raise a lot of questions that may end up hurting her more than helping her.”
A sudden idea is in my head, forming fast and furious. “She looks like me.”
“I noticed that. It’s a crazy coincidence. Some would say fate.”
I keep a lid on my idea for a while. The songs change, something upbeat and bouncy, still played with only instruments. Artie hums along. I don’t know the song, or I would, too, but there’s a smile forming in my heart, on my lips.
A man who hums, who smiles to himself, who says we’ll learn together, who says to relax, who rescues a child and claims her as his own... I think that points to a good person, a kind person, a person who has happiness inside of him. I swallow. It’s the first time I’ve ever been around another person besides my step-parents. Keepers, that would be more accurate. Reading books from the college library has given me a few thoughts about romance, about being carried away to safety by some hero. Seeing the guys on camera, all sorts of different people, only caused my heart to ache. I never thought I’d have a chance to be near them. I don’t think I’m supposed to feel this odd, fluttering in my chest, and I tell myself not to dwell on it, even if I’m worried that it’s something like a “crush.”
“Do you mind telling me—if you know, and you don’t think it’s rude of me to ask—what caused you to look like you do? Which is lovely! And I don’t care what it is, believe me. I was just thinking, maybe it would help me to take better care of Laurel.”
“Oh, my stepfather was very superstitious. I don’t think I...” Imogene trailed off. “I don’t think I could be what he thought. Half-human. Half-monster of some kind.”
“No, I don’t suppose so. I mean, it is Halloween, and my town goes all out, so if youwerepart-monster, you’d fit right in.”
“Oh, but monsters are terrifying.”
“I mean, some are. But some aren’t. What about all those sexy vampires and werewolves in the movies? And that fish-man in that book? Aren’t the ladies always falling for those monster types, with their brooding eyes and stuff? They can’t all be bad.”
“Maybe not. But they’re fictional.”But then, if they’re fictional, what am I? What’s wrong with me? How can I risk getting it fixed if I can’t show anyone who I am? What will happen to Laurel if she ever gets sick?
“Some things in folktales that people used to say weren’t real are real. Not that I think you’re a monster! Oh, geez. Look, I should tell you—I’m not great at small talk. I’m the awkward nerd who never had friends, never had money, or cool stuff. So, I mainly did homework and played video games. Not even that many video games. I’ll be quiet.”
“I like that you’re talking to me. My family didn’t.”
“Sheesh, not much of a family.”
