“Still,” Luke says slowly. “She’s your mother.”
“I know.” I stare out the window at the dark Adriatic. Starlight sparkles on velvety waves, and I suddenly miss the Pacific. I miss Cherry Blossom Lake and my cousins.
I miss Luke.
Get it together, Hazel. He’s your platonic co-parent. Nothing more.
“What do you need, sweetheart?” He asks it so gently I feel my breath hitch in my throat.
“I’m fine.” I should tell him not to call me sweetheart but can’t bring myself to do it. “I’ve got everything under control.”
“I know you do. That doesn’t mean you don’t need people.”
“Tell me about your day.”
There’s a pause where he’s probably wondering why I’m changing the subject. But the truth is, I just need to hear a friendly voice from home.
Not just any voice. Luke’s voice.
“Well,” he says slowly. “I reached out to the fertility clinic about whether there’s some way to use my DNA to track down my dad.”
“Good idea.” He told me last week he was hoping to try that. “What did they say?”
“Another dead end. Something about privacy laws governing fertility clinics. I tuned them out once they made it clear they couldn’t help me.”
“I could help, you know.” I nibble my lip, hoping I haven’t crossed some line. “If money would make a difference?—”
“It wouldn’t.”
“You don’t know that. There are legal experts and private detectives with resources not available to everyone.” Everyone without money, I think but don’t say. “I’m in a position to help you.”
“Don’t,” he says softly.
“Why not?”
“Because I believe in paying my own way. Earning the things I need or want, rather than relying on people with deep pockets.”
“That’s noble,” I say carefully. “But maybe our daughters will want information about their paternal grandfather one day.”
“Maybe they will. And they’ll know their father went through the right channels and used his own resources to get it.”
“Okay.”
I decide not to tell him I spoke with a lawyer last week. Not about Luke’s search for his father, but about my father.
About filing for a transfer to a minimum-security facility. The process is costly and involves lots of lawyers. It’s likely a long shot, so there’s no reason to tell my platonic co-parent.
Keep telling yourself that, Hazel.
“Why do you think you haven’t told your mother you’re pregnant?”
His question surprises me, floating out of the darkness from six thousand miles overseas. I take my time forming an answer. “Maybe I’m worried she won’t care.”
It’s the most honest thing I’ve said in a long time. Luke doesn’t speak right away.
“I get that,” he says. “You play out the possible scenarios in your head and weigh whether the risk is worth it.”
Something cues me in that he’s not just talking about my mother. “Do you feel that way about finding your dad?”
