“Help me understand.”
Farrah didn’t say anything. She couldn’t articulate the way she felt well enough for him to understand. She wasn’t sure she understood it.
“I felt betrayed,” she said. “They lied to me for almost two decades.”
Darren resumed the upward slide of his fingers. He left fire everywhere he touched, and Farrah settled deeper into his side. “Did they say why?”
“My dad said they were trying to protect me.”
“From what?”
“From the truth: That I was unwanted.”
Darren sucked in a breath. “Farrah, they wanted you. They still do.”
She wanted him to say he wanted her. She waited, but he didn’t say it.
“You should call them,” he said instead. “Have you been up to see them? Do they even know you’re back?”
“Of course,” she said. “I’ve been to see them once.”
“In a year.”
“And they came here for lunch once.”
“Two visits in twelve months.” He shifted, twisting to look at her. She could only meet his intense gaze for three seconds before looking away. “Do you call your mom?” he asked, his voice gentle and rough at the same time.
Farrah shook her head as shame filled her.
“Farrah,” he said. “Maybe you need…help.”
“Like a therapist?”
“Yeah.” He tucked her into his side again. “It’s not normal to feel this way, sweetheart. Your father told you about your adoption twelve years ago. You should be able to go see your parents, call your mom on the phone all the time. It’s not normal not to.”
What did he know about being normal? He didn’t have parents. “You don’t understand, because your mom and dad aren’t here.”
He stiffened, his grip on her bicep no longer loving and sincere but a vice. “That’s exactly why I understand, Farrah.Don’t you know how lucky you are to have them here with you? How can you waste a single day by not talking to them?”
The timer on the meatloaf went off, and Darren stood. “I can’t believe you have two people who love you so much that they adopted you when you didn’t even come from them, and you won’t even talk to them. It’s—it’s—” He opened the oven and pulled out the meatloaf, practically dropping it on the stovetop. “It’s selfish, Farrah.”
She stood too, his reaction so not what she’d needed or expected. “Don’t tell me I’m selfish.”
“What would you call it?” He cocked one hip while still wearing the oven mitt, and dang, if Farrah didn’t find him amusing and charming and downright attractive all at the same time.
“I don’t know,” she said. Maybe she did need professional help.
“All I know is that if my parents were still here, I’d call them all the time,” he said. “I’d probably still be living in Wyoming on our farm, and I wouldn’t have had to traipse all over this country trying to find a job that would support me. My brothers and I—” His voice cut off as if someone had pressed mute on his vocal cords.
He shook his head, his eyes bright and dark simultaneously. “I miss my mom and dad terribly,” he said, all the words sticking in his throat. “They’re not here to do anything about it. But yours are. Don’t you miss your mom and dad?”
She did. Oh, she did. She finally nodded, the lump in her throat at his raw emotion too big to swallow past.
“You’re pushy,” she said.
“And impatient, I’ve been told.” He gazed evenly at her. “What are you going to do about it?”
“I don’t know what to say to them.”
