This road was getting bumpy. Maybe Nate shouldn’t have started down it. Talking about Harry’s possible preference for pickle salad would’ve been smoother. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to unload all my baggage on you.”
Her warm palm circled his forearm. “I could tell all day that something was bothering you.”
Nate dropped his elbow on the counter and gripped the front of his hair. “It’s not just the letter. My dad sent me another text too. Right after we left the airport. Haven’t read it yet. Not sure I will.”
“Has he ever explained why he left you and your mom?”
“Sort of. It’s not hard to guess. He was a musician. Had stars in his eyes. Thought he was going to hit it big as the next Garth Brooks or something. Never did, obviously. Eventually settled in Nashville. Last I heard he works as some hotshot producer. I don’t know. All I do know is a family didn’t fit into the picture back when he was traveling and doing gigs all the time. I just wish he’d stop trying to fit us back into the picture now when it’s too late.”
“Maybe it’s not about fitting you back into the picture. Maybe he just... I don’t know, wants a little shot at redemption?”
“Well, like I said. It’s too late.”
“Is it, though?” She gripped his wrist before he could pull away. “All I’m saying is before I got adopted, I had a dad out there that may not have wanted anything to do with me either. I don’t know the situation, but I think it’s safe to assume it wasn’t great. Best case scenario, he didn’t know about me. Worst-case scenario, he knew and didn’t care. Maybe he was a huge jerk. I don’t know. But here’s the thing, Nate. If that man reached out to me today, I wouldn’t care what sort of man he was thirty years ago. I’d be interested in knowing who my dad is today, because he and that man from thirty years ago? They may not be the same person anymore.”
“So you’re saying I should give my dad another chance. Just like that.”
She slid her hand down, clasping his hand inside both of hers. “I’m saying don’t rule it out. Keep thinking about it. Don’t just conclude that it’s something you’ll never be able to do.”
“You’re starting to sound like my mentor.”
“Is that a compliment?”
Nate wagged his head side to side. “Some days.”
She smiled and let go of his hand to grab an orange out of the fruit bowl sitting on the island. “What was his name, this mentor?”
“Philip Cornwell.”
“Philip Cornwell. My, my. Sounds very scholarly. What did he do?” she asked, making a pile of orange peelings and rind.
“Stole cars. Got into trouble. Served time in prison.”
“Sounds like the typical mentor, sure.”
“When I met him he was out of prison and working as a custodian at my college. Became a father figure to me in many ways. Your turn. What does the J stand for in MommaJ?”
“Jayla. When I heard people calling her Jay for short, I thought they were calling her the letter J. How did Mr. Philip Cornwell become your mentor?”
“We bonded over poetry in the library.”
“A fellow ponderer. Of course.” The scent of citrus sprayed the air as she began splitting the orange into wedges.
“Tell me about... what was your adopted dad’s name?”
“Travis.” She swiveled on the stool toward Nate and held out an orange slice.
He popped it into his mouth and adjusted his legs so that her knees alternated with his, fitting together like pieces in a Tetris game. “Tell me more about Travis.”
A small smile danced across her lips. “He sort of put me in mind of a hobbit.”
“I like him already.”
Her smile widened. “He was always spouting off silly limericks. Had this stocky build. I don’t think he was any taller than Momma J, and she wasn’t all that tall herself. He also had those cauliflower ears from doing a bunch of wrestling in his younger days. Bit of a large nose too.”
“Well, how could Momma J have possibly resisted him?”
“Right?” McKenna laughed. “Perfect package.”
