Page 57 of Summer Reading

“She came to stay with us a few times a year, a week here or there, holidays and my birthdays,” he said. “I loved seeing her, but like my grandparents, I was always okay when she left. She just sucked all of the oxygen out of the room, you know?”

“I know the type,” I said. I had met some chefs during my career who didn’t leave enough air in the kitchen for a flambé. “You said you were going to see her last night. How did that go?”

“Not well,” he said.

The waitress delivered our appetizer, and we leaned back to give her access to the table. When she left, we picked up our forks and each speared one of the perfectly browned scallops.

“What happened?” I asked. I felt as if Ben’s relationship with his mother might be the key to knowing him, and I didn’t want to get sidetracked, not even by food, right now.

“I asked her for the millionth time who my father is, and she, also for the millionth time, refused to tell me,” he said.

Chapter Fourteen

“You don’t know who your father is?” I asked. My fork was halfway to my mouth, frozen in place. I couldn’t even imagine.

“Nope, not even a name.” He sounded resigned, and I desperately wanted to get up and hug him. I didn’t.

“Why won’t she tell you?” I was mystified. It wasn’t like he was a boy who might suffer psychological damage if he discovered his dad was a murderer or a convict or something. He was a grown-ass man who wanted to know who had spawned him. I was irate on his behalf.

“She’s very cagey,” he said. “She doesn’t say no outright, because then I could kick up a fuss or argue. Instead, she just changes the subject.”

“How?” I asked. Granted, my dyslexia made me a bit of a badger when it came to asking questions so I could understand things, but how did this woman manage to shut down a conversation of this sort by changing the subject?

“It’s hard to explain.” He took a bite of his scallop, and his eyes closed as he savored it.

It was quite the sensual look, and I wondered if he looked like that when he—I shook my head.Focus, Gale!Still, just the sight of him with his eyes shut and a look of enjoyment on his face made my whole body get hot as if I had a fever. I bit my own scallop, barely tasting the divine buttery garlic and perfectly seared edges, which was tragic.

“Okay, you be me,” he said. “And I’ll be her and you’ll get a better sense of what I’m dealing with.”

“Okay.” I swallowed my scallop. “Hey, Mom—”

“No.” He shook his head. “I’ve never called her Mom. She felt it diminished her individuality as a person to be defined by the role of mother. I call her Moira.”

I stared at him.

“Wow, that’s a lot to take in,” I said.

“Tell me about it.”

“All right. Hey, Moira,” I said. I glanced at him to see if this was okay. He nodded. “I was filling out some forms the other day, and in the place where it said ‘father,’ I drew a blank. Any ideas on what I should be writing there?”

“Why would you fill out forms about your parentage? Are you a slave to the patriarchy?” he asked. His voice was higher but definitely strident.

“Oh.”

“Hmm.”

We both stabbed another scallop and contemplated the situation.

“Moira, I’ve got this hereditary condition in my man parts that requires a matching donor,” I said. He glanced at me across the table, and his eyes glinted with amusement, and his lips twitched. “Any idea where I might find a match?”

“Ask James,” Ben said. Then he added as an aside, “That’s what she calls her father, my grandfather, who is an awesome guy, by the way.”

“It’s supposed to be a paternal match from the father’s side,” I said. I lowered my voice and tried to sound stern.

“Parthenogenesis,” he said.

“I... what?” I gave him a confused look as I tried to wrap my head around the science-loaded word.

---