The Thought Readers (Mind Dimensions #1)(28)

“How’s work?” Kyle asks. “Are we due for another financial meltdown anytime soon?”

Kyle isn’t a fan of anyone in the financial industry. I can forgive that; few people are fans of them. Or should I say of us? Also, only a tiny portion of the population understands the difference between bankers and hedge fund analysts, or can tell any financial professional from another.

“Work is great,” I respond. “I’m researching a biotech company that’s going to use magnetic waves to manipulate human brains for therapy.”

Lucy narrows her eyes at me. She knows I’m trying to start an argument again. But I have to hand it to Kyle: this time, he doesn’t take the bait. Usually he would go into some Luddite bullshit about how frightening and unnatural what I just said sounds, how dangerous it is to mess with people’s brains like that. But no, he doesn’t say anything of the sort.

“I’m glad you’re making a name for yourself at that company,” he says instead. Is that an olive branch? “I was just on my way out, but I’ll see you at Lucy’s birthday party in a few weeks.”

“Sure, Kyle,” I say. “See you then.”

He walks out, and Lucy walks out with him. He probably came to get her advice on a case. He does that to this day, despite not having been her partner for decades.

“When will you grow up?” Sara chides, smiling. “Why must you always push people’s buttons?”

“Oh, that’s rich, you defending Kyle.” I roll my eyes.

“He’s a good man,” she says, shrugging.

“Whatever,” I say, dismissing the subject with a single word. The last thing I’m interested in right now is an argument about Kyle. “We need to talk. You should actually sit down for this.”

Alarm is written all over Sara’s face. I’m not sure what she imagines I’m going to say, but she has a tendency to expect the worst.

“Should we wait for your mother?” she says. They both say that in reference to the other, and it’s always funny to me. Your mother.

“Probably. It’s nothing bad. I just have some important questions,” I say. Despite everything, I feel guilty that I’ve worried her.

I notice that she pales at the mention of important questions.

“Are you hungry?” she asks, looking me up and down with concern. Please, not the too-thin talk again. If it weren’t for Lucy intervening, my own lack of appetite, and my stubbornness, I would be the chubbiest son Sara could possibly raise. And the fatter I’d get, the happier Sara would be as a mom. She would be able to show me around and say ‘see how fat he is, that’s how much I love him.’ I know she got that ‘feeding is caring’ attitude from Grandma, who wouldn’t rest until you were as big as a house.

The fact that Sara doesn’t pursue the food topic now shows me how concerned she is. Is it some kind of guilt thing? Does she suspect what I’m about to ask?

“No, thanks, Mom. I just had some sushi,” I say. “But I would love some coffee.”

“Did you go out partying all night?” She appears even more worried now. “You look exhausted.”

“I didn’t sleep well last night, but I’m okay, Mom.”

She shakes her head and goes into the kitchen. I follow. Their house is still unfamiliar. I preferred the cramped Manhattan apartment where I grew up, but my moms decided a few years back that it was time for the suburbs and home ownership. At least they have some of the same familiar furniture I remember from childhood, like the chair I’m now sitting in. And the heavy round kitchen table. And the cup, red with polka dots, that she hands to me. My cup.

“I smell coffee,” Lucy says, coming back.

“I made you a cup, too,” Sara says.

“You read my mind,” Lucy responds, smiling.

I decide I’m not going to get a better segue than that. Is it literally true? Can Sara Read Lucy’s mind?

“Mom,” I say to Sara. “Is there something important you want to tell me about my heritage?”

I look at them both. They look shell-shocked.

“How did you figure it out?” Lucy asks, staring at me.

“I’m so sorry,” Sara says guiltily.

The vehemence of their reaction confuses me, considering my relatively innocuous question. I haven’t even gotten to the heavy stuff yet. But it seems like I’m onto something, so I just say nothing and try to look as blank as I can, since I’m not sure what we’re talking about. I sense we’re not exactly on the same page.

“We always meant to tell you,” Sara continues, tears forming in her eyes. “But it never seemed like a good time.”

“For the longest time, until you were in your mid-teens, we couldn’t discuss it at all. Even among ourselves,” Lucy adds. She isn’t tearing up, but I can tell she’s distraught. “We even tried reading books about it. But the books recommend saying it as early as possible, which we didn’t do . . .”

“Saying what?” I ask, my voice rising. I’m reasonably certain I’m about to find out something other than what I came here to verify, since I’m not aware of any books about Reading.

Sara blinks at me through her tears. “I thought you knew . . . Isn’t that what you want to talk about? I thought you used some modern DNA test to figure it out.”