Page 30 of Say You Remember Me
“Oh…” Her brow furrowed then, like she was trying to figure out how that worked.
“Yeah, uh…” I swallowed. “My bio dad wasn’t really that involved once he got remarried and had a couple more kids. So when I was eighteen, I decided to change my last name to reflect the man who had actually raised me.”
“So you and your bio dad are estranged?” she asked.
“Basically.” I nodded. “When I realized the only times we even talked was if I made the first move, I decided to do a little experiment to see just how long it would take for him to reach out. And well…it’s been about twelve years since I’ve heard from him.”
“Twelve years?” Maddie’s eyebrows raised. “Dang. That sucks.”
“Yeah.” I nodded again. “He doesn’t even live that far from here. Just twenty minutes away in New Haven.” Her eyeswidened like she was stunned that a parent who lived so close would choose not to take an active part in their child’s life. But I shrugged and said, “It’s okay now. I mean, I used to be really mad about it—hence the last name change. But it is what it is.”
“His loss,” Maddie said. And for a moment, it looked like she might reach out to touch my arm in a comforting way. But seeming to rethink it, she put her hands behind her back instead. After a moment, she met my gaze again, saying, “I guess I can relate somewhat, though. I haven’t seen my mom since second grade.”
“What?” My eyebrows shot up, surprised we’d have something like this in common.
She nodded. “Yeah, she just up and left one day, leaving my dad with three little kids to raise on his own.”
“And you never heard from her again?”
“Nope,” she said with a sigh. “My brother was curious about her when he was in high school and ended up finding out that she was in a folk band. But when he went to one of her shows and tried to talk to her, she basically blew him off and told him she had closed that chapter of her life and didn’t want anything to do with us.”
“Wow.” My jaw dropped. And while I could understand a little of what she was saying since I’d been neglected by my own bio dad, he hadn’t outright disappeared. I could call him up and he’d probably even be up to grabbing a beer together if I wanted to.
He’d just been too lazy to keep up the relationship.
“And this is Sloan’s older sister?” I asked, trying to figure out how their family dynamic worked.
“Yeah.” Maddie nodded. “We still had a relationship with my mom’s parents and all her siblings. My mom just went no contact with everyone.”
“Well, she’s missing out,” I said, wishing I had better words. Because even though I barely knew Maddie, I could already tell that she was someone worth sticking around for.
“Thanks,” she said, drawing in a deep breath. “It sucked at first. But my dad is amazing, so my siblings and I really lucked out with him. He’s the best grandpa, too.”
Her voice wavered slightly as she mentioned her dad, and I caught a hint of emotion flickering across her face. There was probably more to that story—maybe about how her dad had stepped up to help a lot when Grant had been born, since considering how old her son was, she most likely had him in high school.
How had that been for her?
Before I could dwell too much on it, she cleared her throat and said, “Anyway, you never finished telling me how you got this scar.” She nodded toward the old mark on my right hand. “Is it an epic tale?”
“Not exactly epic,” I said with a grin. “But I was pretending to be a pirate at the time, so that’s pretty cool.”
“So cool,” she echoed, her grin matching mine.
“Basically,” I continued, “my friends and I were playing in our homemade fortress, and I had the brilliant idea to slide down the makeshift ramp we built. My hand ended up getting caught on a rusty nail on the way down, and voilà, I got this beauty of a scar.”
“You were quite the daredevil, huh?” she teased, eyes twinkling.
“I did tell you that Reckless was my middle name, didn’t I?” My grin widened as I remembered our very first conversation.
“Yes,” she said, her voice softening as a hint of bashfulness crept into her expression. “You certainly did.”
Our gazes locked, the air between us becoming electric. For a moment, I wanted to be reckless—to pull her into my armsand taste her lips slowly, deliberately. And when her eyes flicked down to my mouth, I couldn’t help but wonder if she was thinking the same thing.
But before I could figure that out, she took a step back. In a light-hearted tone, she asked, “So...how often do you wash dishes by hand?”
“Honestly?” I rubbed the back of my neck, feeling a flush of heat rise to my face. “I’m not sure I’ve ever really done it. I’ve always had a housekeeper to handle that.”
Her eyes widened, and a soft laugh escaped her lips. “So you weren’t just being playful when you asked me what the trick was to washing dishes? You really didn’t know what you were doing.”
