“Things like that don’t happen every day.”
“No, they don’t.”
She pauses for a minute, and we both go back to our sandwiches. When she’s finished, she looks up at me again.
“I didn’t like reading those things about you. And don’t tell me that everything they write is bullshit, because both meandher knew they were true.”
I don’t know how to respond, so I just let her speak.
“Sometimes, I was happy I didn’t have your surname.”
It’s hard to hear, but I guess I deserve it.
“That way, no one could associate me with you.”
“And what did you say when people asked about your dad?”
“I told them you’d died when I was little.”
“Oh, wow.”
She doesn’t even seem to care about what she just said. Should I be angry with her?
“It was easier. No one asked questions that way.”
“What worried you the most?”
“To be honest, I didn’t want anyone to think badly of Mum. You’d slept with so many women.”
“That’s not true.”
“But it wasn’t exactlywrong.”
I nod. I don’t want to lie to her.
“Was that what happened with her, too? Was she just a one-night-stand?”
“Something like that.”
“You didn’t love her.”
I shake my head. “I wasn’t cut out for being a dad, for settling down with a woman and committing. I was young and stupid, and I believed that there were loads of things I wasn’t cut out for. And I’m sorry, honestly. I’m sorry for your mother, for not being there. I’m sorry to hear that you’d have preferred it if I’d died instead.”
She doesn’t even attempt to reassure me. She isn’t one to lie; she got that from her mother, too.
“But everything has changed, now. You’re here, and we’re together, and I really want to make it work.”
She looks at me, unconvinced.
“And I want you to give me a chance.”
“I don’t know if I want to give you one.”
“Okay.”
“Let’s leave it as a ‘maybe’ for now.”
I guess that’s better than a ‘fuck off’.
