Page 21 of Sharing Shadow Secrets
“No.”
“Because your life is the show?” I press.
“Basically … My dad refuses to retire. He attempts it. The longest he’s gone without working is three months. He’s in his seventies and can’t quit.”
I nod and consider how he’s never mentioned his mom. “What’s your mom like?”
“Dead.”
My jaw drops at how blasé he said that.
“I don’t have any memories of her. She died when I was three.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, squeezing his hand, feeling awkward about bringing up such a sensitive topic.
“One of the many reasons why I’m fucked up.”
I squeeze his hand again, disagreeing, although I’m just getting to know him. We silently walk east toward Lake Michigan for a few paces, the buildings transitioning from residential to commercial.
“I don’t get bad vibes from you. So I don’t think you’re that fucked up.”
He smiles down at me, then asks, “When did you start trusting the vibes?”
“Pretty much always. I don’t know. I feel like I have always been able to read people.”
“Did you have anormalchildhood?” he asks, squeezing my hand as he does.
“On paper, yes. But the internet has been showing me how fucked some of it was. Like I guess not everyone’s parents scream at each other regularly.”
“Are they still together?” he asks, his brow knitting.
“Yeah. Helps them feel superior to their divorced friends more than anything,” I quip.
“Talk to them much?”
“Eh,” I say with a shrug, trying to remember the last time we spoke on the phone.
He chuckles. “Well, I won’t be talking to Kent Dubois until January, which was worth flying to Switzerland for. Gotta protect my peace.”
I laugh lightly. “Sometimes I think I’m too good at that when I haven’t seen any family in months, but then I start to feel guilty about it.”
And now I feel guilty that I haven’t called my mom and told her I quit my job yet. Tomorrow. I’ll call her tomorrow.
“I feel that.” He nods. “Do you have siblings?”
“A younger sister. She is so Gen Z. Lives in a van with a cellphone without internet. Like full on Luddite. So needless to say, we couldn’t be more different. Do you have siblings?”
“Sort of. My dad’s been married a few times. I have some former step siblings, but I’m my dad’s only kid.”
“What’s a few times?” I ask as we turn down Wells St., the busiest street in Old Town. The sounds of restaurants’ and bars’ competing playlists spill over.
“Four. He will never be satisfied in life …” Brandon trails off, rolling his eyes. “I’ve been assuming we’re about the same age. I’m thirty. How old are you?”
“Twenty-eight.”
“You’re pretty young for me.” He chuckles.
“Oh?” I ask, raising my voice.
