A few days after that card night, despite all my best efforts to play it cool, to keep it totally casual, I spent another night with Kincaid.
One night turned into two, and then three. Not every night, maybe every third night, one of us would text.
You up?
Can I see you tonight?
The other would always say yes. I knew better. My mind knew better. But my heart was definitely not listening. It had been a stretch of four full weeks now. Four weeks that felt like a lifetime.
I was due to get my period. I was very regular. Usually.
Chapter Nineteen
Kincaid
My mom studied me from across the kitchen table. I had stopped by her apartment to check in after coming home from a night with Tori.
“And, how is Tori?” my mother asked brightly, before taking a swallow of her coffee.
“She’s great, Mom. How are you? That’s why I stopped by.”
“I’m great.”
I bit back a laugh as I sat down across from her. After a moment, her gaze sobered, and she tilted her head to the side, studying me.
“What’s that look for?” I asked.
“I spoke to your father.”
My chest tightened. “What?” I asked, my tone sharp.
“Yep, I did. He’s no longer here in Alaska.”
“I told you I expected that,” I pointed out.
“But he’d like to talk to you,” she added.
“Why now?” I knew all along—because my mother wasn’t one to dance around secrets—that she had hoped he was still around, that we’d reconnect somehow. Or, connect at all.
It wasn’t that I was opposed to the idea, but I had honestly, I suppose, assumed it would never happen. He’d known about my existence. He just never cared.
“Where is he?” I asked, striving to keep my tone level.
“Apparently, he’s in Seattle near his family. He also has medical issues, but they’re more serious than mine.”
“Is that supposed to make me feel bad?” I knew my voice sounded defensive, but I didn’t even try to hide it.
My mom set her coffee mug on the table and reached across, catching one of my hands in both of hers before squeezing and releasing it.
“No, it’s not supposed to make you feel guilty. I just want you to know what’s happening. I’m not trying to pressure you. But when you were younger, you always wanted to at least talk to him.”
I stayed quiet, mostly because I didn’t know what to say.
“I’m not saying that’s what you should do, but the door is finally open,” she said gently. “Think about it. I can be on the call with you.”
I knew that would help, and yet, I also felt reluctant. “I’ll think about it,” I finally said.
My mom opened her mouth to speak again, but I narrowed my eyes and shook my head slightly. “Let me think about it, Mom. In the meantime, as I’ve told you since I was old enough to have an opinion—feel free to tell him whatever you want about me if he asks. I don’t have anything to hide.”
