Torn(53)

I have to put this part of my life to rest. I don't want it hanging over my head. I'm not a Foster. That's the brutal reality of it all. I'd like to know who my biological dad is, but I'm not going to let that curiosity chart the course of my life for the next two, three or even ten years.

If my dad doesn't know, I'll go to my mom. If she refuses to tell me, I'll let it rest. The time I would spend seeking out the truth is time I could be spending with Falon. She makes me like who I am, regardless of who played a part in my birth. I see the future when I look at her.

"This woman is a real bitch."

"Don't I know it," I say with a grin. "She was almost my step-mother."

"You're wicked step-mother." She raises some of the papers in her hand. "Have you read all of these? They are mostly her asking your dad for money."

I adjust the sheet around my waist. I'm semi-hard again. It's from looking at her sitting there, relaxed and happy. Her nipples might have something to do with it too.

"She fell in love with my dad's money."

"Didn't she have a job?" She trails her fingers over the toes of my left foot. "I can't imagine marrying someone just because they buy you things."

"You're nothing like Caterina." I wiggle my toes. "I'm ticklish."

"Really?" Her top teeth catch her bottom lip. "I'm going to remember that. I can use that to my advantage sometime."

My hands fly into the air in mock surrender. "Whatever you want, I'll give it to you, just promise you won't tickle me when I'm asleep."

"So you're saying I should tickle you when you are asleep?" she asks teasingly. "I'll get the best response then, is that it? Will you scream?"

I shake my head. "I'm not telling. You'll have to figure that out yourself."

"I'm game." She shrugs and looks back at the papers. "I'd like to meet your family."

"I can make that happen." I don't add that I've wanted her to meet my brothers since I first saw her. They're both going to adore her. She's everything that's good in the world and she likes me. I'm not sold on the idea of her meeting my mom and dad right now. That's going to have to wait. "I'd like to meet your family too. The rest of them, that is, since I've already met Elijah."

She bends her knees, resting her chin on them. "It's Brooklyn family dinner night tomorrow. Do you want to come?"

My stomach tenses at the thought. That's a lot of people to meet, a hell of a lot. "I want to come."

"You want to come?" Her eyes light up before she stands, pushes her panties off and then slides her luscious body over mine. "I want to come too."

***

You'd think that my concerts would prepare me for a room full of loud people, all trying to get the attention of one person. Nothing in my entire life could have prepared me for this.

I'm in a small house in Brooklyn. A house less than a block away from Dobb's Bakery. Dobb is the name that Falon's oldest brother affectionately called her grandfather when he was a kid. Her parents named the bakery after him. She told me that on our way here. We rode the subway, me nervous as f*ck, her laughing about how much fun I was going to have trying to remember the names of all of her siblings.

There's Shirley, Mike, Elijah, of course, Bobby, Raymond, George, he's the oldest. There's Clara, who Falon hugged tightly when we arrived. That leaves Ida, Joseph, who isn’t here today, Carlos, who is Clara's twin brother, Gary, and Trina.

The grandson, Trevor, a two-year-old hellion is the center of attention. I can see why. He's showing off for the gathered crowd, falling against a table, pretending to hurt his head. Falon laughed, as did the rest of the Shaw brood, when her dad, Herbert, ran up to scoop Trevor into his arms. Her mom, Hermina, kissed her husband's cheek before she stroked her hand over her grandson's hair. It was a simple thing, but it held so much history and promise.

Falon's never told me much about her family other than the fact that there were so many of them. I didn't know that one of her brothers is deaf. Falon introduced me to him, via sign language. I felt inadequate until she told me that he was an expert at lip reading. She discovered that when she was twelve-years-old and she spilled the beans on his birthday present by talking about it to her sister while he stood right in front of her.

"Your music is incredible, Asher." I turn towards a woman's voice. It's deeper than Falon's. It carries something hers doesn't. I recognize it. Desperation, a hint of fear, it's edging on surrender. Surrender to the peace that comes when your life is ruled by drugs.

"Shirley, right?" I reach to grab her hand. "Falon's told me about you. You work at the bakery."

Her sunken grey eyes drift from my face to Falon's. "I'd like to follow in Falon's footsteps one day. I like photography a lot too."

Those words are akin to a magnet for Falon. They draw her from across the room. "I didn’t know that."

"I saw the pictures you took of him on your site, Fal." She studies her younger sister's face. "They were intense. I think it was your best work."

When Falon sent me the images she took of me after I got that call in her studio from Daniel, I told her that she had my permission to post one to her site. She hadn't included it in the image gallery. Instead, she wrote a blog post about the man behind the music. It was a complimentary article about my talent. It's been up for almost a week now and this morning she told me she's considering taking it down now that she knows the reason why I looked the way I did.