Hopeless(43)

He puts his fork back down and rolls his eyes. “My food’s getting cold.”

I place my elbows on the table and fold my hands under my chin. “I want to know about your sister. And why you referred to her in the past tense.”

He tilts his head back and looks up, rubbing his hands down his face. “Ugh. You really ask the deep questions, huh?”

“That’s how the game is played. I didn’t make up the rules.”

He sighs again and smiles at me, but there’s a hint of sadness in his smile and it instantly makes me wish I could take the question back.

“Remember when I told you my family had a pretty f*cked up year last year?”

I nod.

He clears his throat and begins tracing the rim of his plate again. “She died thirteen months ago. She killed herself, even though my mother would rather we use the term, ‘purposefully overdosed.’”

He never stops looking at me when he speaks, so I show him the same respect, even though it’s really difficult to look him in the eyes right now. I have no idea how to respond to that, but it’s my own fault for bringing it up.

“What was her name?”

“Lesslie. I called her Les.”

Hearing his nickname for her stirs up sadness within me and I suddenly don’t feel like eating anymore. “Was she older than you?”

He leans forward and picks up his fork, then twirls it in his bowl. He brings the forkful of pasta to his mouth. “We were twins,” he says flatly, right before taking the bite.

Jesus. I reach for my drink, but he takes it out of my hands and shakes his head. “My turn,” he says with a mouthful. He finishes chewing and takes a sip, then wipes his mouth with a napkin. “I want to know the story about your dad.”

I’m the one groaning this time. I fold my arms on the table in front of me and accept my payback. “Like I said, I haven’t seen him since I was three. I don’t have any memories of him. At least, I don’t think I do. I don’t even know what he looks like.”

“Your mom doesn’t have any pictures of him?”

It dawns on me when he asks this question that he doesn’t even know I’m adopted. “You remember when you said my mom looked really young? Well, it’s because she is. She adopted me.”

Being adopted isn’t really a stigma I’ve ever had to overcome. I’ve never been embarrassed by it, ashamed of it, or felt the need to hide the fact. But the way Holder is looking at me right now, you would think I just told him I was born with a penis. He’s staring at me uncomfortably and it makes me fidget. “What? You’ve never met anyone who was adopted?”

It takes him a few more seconds to recover, but he puts away his puzzled expression and locks it up, replacing it with a smile. “You were adopted when you were three? By Karen?”

I shake my head. “I was five. I was put into foster care when I was three, after my biological mother died. My dad couldn’t raise me on his own. Or he didn’t want to raise me on his own. Either way, I’m fine with it. I lucked out with Karen and I have no urge whatsoever to go figure it all out. If he wanted to know where I was, he’d come find me.”

I can tell he’s not finished with the questions by the look in his eyes, but I really want to take a bite and get the ball back in my court.

I point to his arm with my fork. “What does your tattoo mean?”

He holds his arm out and traces his fingers over it. “It’s a reminder. I got it after Les died.”

“A reminder for what?”

He picks up his cup and diverts his eyes from mine. It’s the only question he hasn’t been able to answer with direct eye contact. “It’s a reminder of the people I’ve let down in my life.” He takes a drink and places his glass back on the table, still unable to make eye contact.

“This game’s not very fun, is it?”

He laughs softly. “It’s really not. It sort of sucks ass.” He looks back up at me and smiles. “But we need to keep going because I still have questions. Do you remember anything from before you were adopted?”

I shake my head. “Not really. Bits and pieces, but it comes to a point that, when you don’t have anyone to validate your memories, you just lose them all. The only thing I have from before Karen adopted me is some jewelry, and I have no idea who it came from. I can’t distinguish now between what was reality, dreams or what I saw on TV.”