Page 31 of Solo

“It’s a long story,” I mutter and turn my focus back to my soup. “I wish I could cook like this.” I marvel, hoping to get him off the subject of schools. It works.

“You don’t cook?” he asks idly.

I shake my head. “No, not really. We had a housekeeper when I was growing up. And now, well, my current living arrangements aren’t the best for whipping up gourmet meals.”

“Housekeeper, huh?” There’s just a hint of accusation in his tone.

“Yeah,” I say between slurps. “My mother died when I was seven and my dad…well, you know about him. He wasn’t home much, so the housekeeper made sure I at least had a hot breakfast and dinner.”

“Oh, I see. I’m sorry about your mother. I didn’t realize you were so young when she passed,” he says a little stiffly.

“Thanks,” I murmur.

“And do you rent a room or something?”

“Excuse me?” I ask, looking up, confused by the sudden turn in topic.

“You mentioned your current living arrangement doesn’t allow for you to cook. I thought maybe you don’t have access to a kitchen.”

“Oh, that. Yeah, I live in a little studio apartment on the south side of town. I have a small fridge, a microwave, and a little two-burner stove. There’s barely enough room in there to make a sandwich, let alone cook a whole meal. So you can see why I’m so blown away by your kitchen.” I smile as I gesture at the impressive room around us.

“South side? Where about?”

“Marquette and Twenty-Second,” I say a little too quietly, clearly embarrassed by my address.

He clears his throat before he speaks again. “That’s not a very good part of town, you know.”

I hear the concern in his voice and it irritates the hell out of me because I’ve been here before, and I know what the next part of this conversation sounds like.

“Yeah, well, it’s what I can afford. So…”

I brace myself for the next awkward question, the one concerning my father being a senator and the money he must have to help his only child. Surprisingly, that’s not the question he asks.

“Have you thought about getting a roommate? Maybe you could swing something in a better neighborhood if you shared a place.”

I’m caught off balance by this change in trajectory and I find myself stumbling to answer.

“I…I, uh, I did. I mean, I tried, you know, initially. It’s just difficult finding the right person, you know? I mean, ideally, it’d be someone who either doesn’t know or doesn’t care about…you know…”

His brows furrowed together. “What?”

I look up and meet his eyes. Is he serious?

“Who my dad is. What he does. What he’s like.”

I see the light of understanding spark in his eyes. “Ah. Yes, I see,” he says with a nod. “Is it still that much of a problem for you?” he asks curiously.

“Yeah, sometimes. It’s better than it was back when I first got to Shepherd. I’m sure you remember all the fuss.”

He nods his remembrance.

“Yeah, well, it’s better now. Or it was until rumors started about him running for president. Now it’s starting all over again. You know a reporter actually disconnected my battery cable to get me to accept a ride from him? When I figured out who he was, the jerk didn’t want to let me out of his car. I had to call the police from inside the car to get him to let me out. Can you believe that?”

“What did he want?” Markham asks, sounding suddenly alarmed on my behalf.

“The usual. He was looking for a quote about my father. But, jeez, he seemed like such a nice, normal guy. He almost got me to go out with him.”

“How did you figure out who he was?”