I stifled a giggle behind my hand.
“Okay. Favorite holiday, color, and activity.”
“Christmas, for obvious reasons. Green. And I like to play basketball.”
He puffed in disbelief. “Your mom’s favorite color was green. And she wasgoodat basketball.”
“Really?”
“Oh yeah. We played street ball with the neighborhood kids. She would beat a lot of the boys.”
I shared more than looks in common with my mother. The thought made me feel giddy inside.
“Favorite subject. Favorite dessert.”
“Literature and anything cherry.”
“You like to read?”
“I love it.”
He nodded, pleased by that answer. “I love reading, too.”
“Most adults say they don’t have time to read.”
“They didn’t spend fourteen years in prison.”
That made sense and I grunted a little laugh out. “You read a lot of books there?”
“About nine hundred.”
My jaw dropped. “Holy smokes.”
He laughed. We talked for a while about books we’d read and what genres we liked. We both liked the Chronicles of Narnia and the Hunger Games. He promised he’d read Rick Riordan’s books since they were my favorite. Said it’d give us something to talk about next time.
My heart skipped. He wanted to see me again?
I told him what Thanksgiving in the children’s home typically looked like. How some volunteers made us a big dinner, and we played board games together. He said that sounded fun and told me he and his two best friends loved board games. He didn’t have plans for Thanksgiving yet, which I thought was weird, since it was only a few weeks away.
He told me how his mom—my grandma—had always made the best green bean casserole on Thanksgiving and how they hauled in the Christmas tree every year on Black Friday. They’d decorate it while they watched a movie calledIt’s a Wonderful Life.
Then he told me all his family was gone.
He said, “I’ve missed having special people to celebrate with.”
He said it with such longing I felt I might cry all over again. I knew right then, right there, that my dad was going to try to get his parental rights. My heart clammed up at the thought.
The plan was to hate him and wish he were dead. And he’s supposed to hate me.
Pretty soon, a whole two hours had disappeared.
When it was time to say goodbye, Pat asked if I liked hugs.
I reallyliked hugs, but I just said, “yeah.”
He pulled me into a hug and said, “Thank you, Sunny.”
“For what?”
