“You…remember me?” is all I manage to say.
“Yeah.” His lips rise, and my heart warms. “The day I met my birth mother is one I really can’t forget.”
“Oh…” That was the first time he met my mom? I mean, our mom. My eyes drop for a second. She really did abandon him then…
I take a quick glance at Ryke. His lips are parted in surprise, eyes a little wide as they go from me to Loren and back to me. I wonder if he knew anything about me. If he knew I existed out there, or if Loren just kept it to himself. Because my mom told him to leave Ellie and me alone.
“Do you want to talk over coffee?” Loren asks. I whip my head back to him, a chill never disappearing. Coffee. “Maybe in the break room?”
I nod over and over, and the tears just keep rising. I blow out another breath, my strained shoulders loosening.
He wants to talk. He’s not going to kick me out. He’s not going to tell me to get lost, kid. I feel like I’m reaching out to someone who’s not only clasping my hand but drawing me closer, so I don’t fall backwards on my own.
For the first time since I left home, I feel safe.
I’m in the break room of Superheroes & Scones.
I can’t believe I’m here—and yes, I’m slightly shaking. My arms tremble, and my legs have glued together. I wonder if the jitters are from the coffee Loren handed me, the only thing I’ve consumed today. Or maybe it’s nerves—from being in the presence of a famous person for longer than one minute. Or from being related to this human being.
I cup the coffee mug, afraid to drink more and have a panic attack at Loren Hale’s feet. Please don’t do that, Willow.
He sits next to me on the bright blue couch. The break room is pretty typical: a microwave, small kitchenette, tables and chairs, a few racks of comic books, and a single bathroom.
Lily, her son, her bodyguard, and Ryke all disappeared upstairs to—well, I’m not exactly sure what leads upstairs. The point is: we’re basically alone except for a couple of employees eating sandwiches at a back table, sitting beneath an Iron Man poster.
I think we can speak freely enough, but if Loren is cautious, I’ll follow his lead and be cautious too.
“I…” I begin but realize I’m unsure of where to start.
Loren’s confidence radiates and practically dwarfs what little I have in this moment. He keeps an arm on the back of the couch, rotated towards my body. “How’d you find out about me?” he asks, discovering a place to start.
Now I have to figure out how to explain everything. I tuck a piece of hair behind my ear, having trouble holding his gaze. “My parents divorced about a year ago.”
“I’m sorry.” He sounds a little cross, not towards me really, but maybe that’s his normal tone of voice? Everything seems to come out harsh, but it doesn’t always match his expression.
I guess if I looked at him, I’d have a better interpretation of this moment. Willow Moore, that little turd, can’t even look her own brother square in the eyes—will definitely be my eulogy.
I shrug and push up my glasses that keep slipping down my nose. “Ellie had her sixth birthday about a month ago, and it was the first time my parents were together since the divorce.”
The fight starts to flood me: the balloons littering the linoleum floor, the way my father passed me coldly and never looked back, the half-eaten cake and my mother gripping the counter. My chest tightens, and my eyes burn again.
“I heard them fighting in the kitchen,” I nearly whisper, “about how my mom had a son, and she…abandoned you.” I clutch my mug harder and finally look up.
He scratches his neck, appearing a little more uncomfortable than he has been. “I had my father, so it was okay.” His throat bobs.
I wonder if Jonathan Hale is nice. Just based off tabloid rumors, I’d say no. (They’re so awful I really hate to repeat them.) Disregarding those, all I have to go on is the fact that he slept with an underage girl—my mom, our mom—and got her pregnant.
He doesn’t sound that awesome, but if he raised someone as cool as Loren Hale, then maybe he’s not entirely bad.
When he swallows, he asks, “Did you confront her about it?” Did I confront my mom about her abandoning you?
I just picture my mom turning her back on me, trying to bury this. I see her never chasing me upstairs. Never chasing me outside. I see her in a new horrible light that I can’t shake. It hurts…
“Yeah,” I say softly, “right then. I asked her about it, and it took some screaming for her to really tell me the truth.”
My voice nearly dies by the last word. I wipe my eyes beneath my glasses, hoping these tears won’t overflow.
He angles closer to me, kind of like he wants to comfort me but still wants to give me personal space. I’m not a touchy-feely person. My mom wasn’t ever that way, and I wonder—I wonder now if it was because of what happened when she was sixteen. Being kind of taken advantage of by Jonathan Hale… I mean, she didn’t say that she said no to him. So I have to assume it was consensual.
But is it consent if she was underage? And the product of this event… is right in front of me.
My stomach knots, the coffee not settling well with these thoughts.
Then Loren says, “I’m sorry you had to find out like that.”
My eyes sear now, tears welling as I realize full-force how much my mom kept him from seeing me. Loren wanted me to know about him.
“I ran away,” I suddenly say, my voice cracking and tears leaking with the words. I’m crying in front of one of the most famous people alive in the world, and I don’t even care anymore. I hate and resent her more than I ever wanted to, and it all hurts.
“You what?” His mouth drops a little, and concern overtakes the edge in his voice.
“I just…I was so mad.” My breath staggers between tears. “I told my mom that I was going to find you, and she couldn’t stop me. So…I hopped in my car and drove to Philadelphia.”
He pinches the bridges of his nose, his eyes tightening closed. “You’ve been here for an entire month? Does Emily know—”
“She knows.”
His reaction makes me feel like I made a mistake—and it’s tearing a hole through me. With my mug between my knees, I cover my face in my hands, embarrassed now and heartbroken all over again and full of combatant emotions that cut.
He stands, and I don’t have the heart to watch him walk around the break room. I just keep talking—trying to explain and justify why I’m here.
“She’s waiting for me to run out of money,” I clarify. “She doesn’t have any vacation days left to leave work, so she can’t come get me.” I sound like the villain. My hard-working mother is left at home while I’m off chasing a long-lost brother, leaving her to worry.
If she worried so much, she would’ve called. A hot tear rolls down my cheek.
Loren plops back on the couch with a box of tissues. That’s what he went to find? “How much money do you have left?” He hands me the box.
I take one tissue. “I’m not going back.” It hits me now. I don’t want to return home. My dad can’t look me in the eyes. I expect after this, my mom will have trouble too.