He shakes his head, already regretting it,
wanting to take it all back,
disappointed in himself.
“But life keeps kickin’ it outta me,
“so I stopped lettin' myself go there.”
He goes quiet,
knowing he's already said too much.
“Shit,” he mutters, mostly to himself.
“Didn’t mean to put all that on you…
“I don’t usually run my mouth like this.”
His small smile's a little shaken and honest.
“You keep lookin' at me like you give a damn. Makes me forget I’m supposed to keep shit locked.”
Because I think I do...
“What about your dad?”
You don’t ask about fathers, dumbass.
But nothing I can do about it now.
“Ah yes—the donor.”
He pops a blueberry.
“Tequila and a shit decision is what Ma calls it.
“Name’s a mystery, like the fuckin’ Zodiac.
“Who knows? Might even be him.”
He laughs at the idea, until it melts into a sigh.
“Paola and Maria… they showed up.
“That was enough.”
“Two moms,” I say,
trying not to sound jealous.
“Damn, leave some love for the rest of us.”
I throw back the rest of my glass,
courage for what I'm about to say next?—
“My mom died of breast cancer when I was thirteen.”
