“Oh. Mentally, psychologically, yes. There were a couple of weeks over the summer break where she was institutionalized.”
Her eyes widened, and I realized I wasn’t exactly painting a nice picture here. Trouble was, this was the truth. It was why I was just meeting her now instead of raising her. There was no sugarcoating this.
“I didn’t think… I just thought I wasn’t wanted. You know?” Her fingers traced Rachel’s gaunt cheekbones again. Even when she was pregnant, Rachel looked like she was anorexic. “Another teen mom who didn’t use a condom.”
Anger flushed through me, but I dampened it down. “Sometimes life hands you lemons and you can’t make lemonade.”
Wordlessly, she returned the photo to me then picked up the other. “She’s still very thin. Is she… whatever she was institutionalized for, is that still a problem?”
“I don’t believe so.”
“You don’t know?”
I felt her disapproval and squirmed at it. “Your mother’s a very private person.”
“You love her, right?”
“I do. Very much.”
“Then why don’t you keep an eye on her?”
I did. In very illegal ways. It wasn't like I could tell Wynter that. “It’s not as simple as you think.”
“Why isn’t it?”
“Because if I get too close, Rachel either pushes me away or runs to the city for work.” I rubbed a hand over the hair I’d gelled when I never used gel. The crispy pointed edges agitated me. “She’s a successful lawyer, so she drowns herself in her caseload. Before…”
“Before what?”
“She has an eighteen-year-old brother who she’s the guardian for.”
She reared back. “So, she’s his caretaker?”
I heard her jealousy and empathized with her.
“Yeah. Only for the last ten or so years. But she looked after him when he was a baby. It was a lot for her. Her mom walked out, leaving the baby—his name’s Rain—with Axel, Rachel’s stepfather. He worked long hours to put food on the table, and she did everything until she left for college.
“It was… I never meant to put her in a position where she’d have a kid so young. She’d already had too much responsibility, you know?”
She stared at me, unblinking, and I realized I was revealing all her biological parents’ secrets over coffee and croissants before she had to spend the rest of the day in school.
Blowing out a breath, cheeks gusting with it, I muttered, “Sorry, this is heavy shit before a day of studying, isn’t it?”
Wynter didn’t smile. “It is, but you can’t sugarcoat the truth.”
Hadn’t I just thought that?
She was clearly her parents’ daughter.
“She moved away for college.”
“From where?”
“West Orange. New Jersey.”
Her eyes met mine, and I got the feeling I was about to be tested, “Which college?”
“Brown. Like I told you.”
Her mouth rounded. “You said that yesterday but I wasn't sure I believed you. My mom really went to Brown?”
Pride filled me on Rach’s behalf. “She did. Then she went onto Yale.”
“Wow.” She stared down at the picture. “She doesn’t look happy.”
“I don’t think she is.”
She turned that gimlet stare on me again. “Are you trying to make things better?”
Jesus.
This kid.
I rubbed my thumb along my chin. “I’m trying.”
She frowned at her mom’s cool expression. “Good.”
I studied her. “How did you get an apartment when you’re seventeen?”
“My mom helped me. She co-signed.”
“Ally knowingly helped you get an apartment in that building?” I sputtered, my disbelief clear.
Her mouth turned down at the edges. “It’s all we can afford.”
Though I had to play this cool, it was goddamn hard. “You can afford a better place if you let me help you out.”
“It’s all right. I’m okay where I am.”
“I’m a grown man and I’m frightened of that place.”
Her lips curved as she dragged her gaze up and down me. “Somehow, I think that’s a lie. Even if you do look like a Ken doll today. Where’s the leather vest thingy?”
If I hadn’t known better, I’d say she and Rachel had conferred about this.
She didn’t need to know about the Disciples, so I just told her, “I wanted to make a good first impression so it’s back in my hotel room.”
I didn’t realize, until that admission, that there was a hardness in her eyes that softened. I couldn’t explore that though, as a waitress made an appearance with a couple plates of food.
She gaped in surprise as the dishes were stacked on the table. Once the server left, after she and Wynter greeted each other, I told her, “Eat whatever you want.”
She didn’t mess around.
As I watched her devour, albeit daintily, the omelet and sausage muffin, we slowly started to talk about other topics.
Without dragging it out of her, she told me that she had history class today and that that was her favorite, and that she had band practice later as well—she played the piano.
When she’d finished her breakfast, then looked at the time, I took note of her reluctance to leave, and I’d admit, relief hit me. I didn’t want this to end either.
“Shall I drive you over to school?” I asked carefully.
“If you don’t mind.”
“I don’t,” was my quick response.
“Then, thank you.” She cleared her throat. “Do you mind if I take the rest of these for lunch?”
There were a couple pastries left.
“I’ll get a doggy bag for you.”
Her cheeks were pink from embarrassment, but I ignored that as I returned to the café, which had calmed down some, and asked for a takeout box. While I was there, I bought her a large bottle of water, a banana, a pre-packed sandwich, and some chips.
When I returned, she’d shrugged on a school blazer, and though she looked mature, that was diminished by the childish relief at the sight of all the food. “You didn’t have to do that.”
I shrugged but wisely kept my mouth shut as I watched her pack them into her bag.
Together, we walked over to where I’d parked my bike, and I gave her my helmet which was too big but better than nothing, and I made a mental note to buy her one today. Her hands showed her nerves as they cupped my waist after she climbed on, the fingers pinching slightly, but I remained quiet as I set off, taking it slow so I didn’t amp up her anxiety.
Having followed her yelled directions, the ride was much too short when we made it to school.
As she climbed off, I noticed she bounced on her toes as she stood at my side, unfastening the helmet.
“That was awesome,” she enthused, gracing me with her first genuine grin.
“Once it’s in the blood, it’s in the blood,” I teased, accepting the helmet once she gave it to me.
“I’ll bet.” Her grin started to die as she stared at me. But when her toe turned in, her shoe scuffing the floor, I braced myself as she muttered, “If… I mean, we can hang out again, if you’d like?”