Page 43 of Bringing Home the Bacon
“Excuse me?” Colleen’s expression turns hard.
Shit. I’ve overstepped.
I put my hands up in a defense position. “That came out harsher than I intended. What I meant to say was—it’s a father’s job to provide and?—”
“My grandfather was a great guy, Bacon. And he provided his ass off! Can you imagine suddenly having five extra mouths to feed? And, as you’ll see in approximately fifteen minutes, my brothers and I aren’t exactly easy! We’re a handful! He also made sure we had what we needed. He sent us to college and?—”
“Colleen?” She takes a breath and gives me her full attention. “I misspoke. That was insensitive of me, and I’m sorry.”
“Well, okay then.” She stares out the passing scenery in silence for a few breaths, then chuckles. “I’m the first one to talk crap about my family. But they’re my family, you know? Guess I’m more protective of them than I realized.”
“You’re lucky to have each other,” I say softly.
“Yeah. We really are. How about you?” she asks. “You haven’t said much about your family.”
I shrug. “Not much to tell.”
“Come on, Chef, give me something. I don’t know a single human who doesn’t have family drama to spill.”
“You called me Chef.” I smile.
She smiles back and places a hand on my thigh. “Brings back memories, doesn’t it?”
“It sure does.”
I place my hand over hers. She flips her palm and weaves her fingers with mine. Then she gives my hand a squeeze, encouraging me to talk.
How do I explain this?
I pull out my phone and pull up my messaging app. “What do you see here?”
“Looks like a long thread of unanswered texts.” She squints at my screen. “Who is… MWSM?”
“Man Who Sired Me,” I say.
Colleen’s eyes go wide. “Wow. That’s really what you call your father?”
“I don’t call him anything. I don’t speak to him.” I slip my phone back into my pocket. As much as he deserves my silence, I don’t feel proud when I see how many times he’s reached out over the years and how many times I’ve ignored him. “You must think that’s terrible, huh? You lost your dad. And here I am with a very much alive father who I refuse to speak to.”
“I don’t think you’re terrible. I think families can be…complicated.”
“How’s this for complicated? When I was eight years old, my mom discovered my dad had been living a double life. It sounds like a soap opera episode when I phrase it like that, but that’s what it was. A double life. He had my mom and me in Philly. And a whole other family in Pittsburgh.”
“Oh my god,” she says and squeezes my hand tighter.
“Yeah. Double of everything for him while his wife and kid were barely scraping by. Can’t exactly pay the bills with a truckload of lies.”
I watch the proverbial light bulb go off in Colleen’s head. “That’s why you were so upset when I lied to you.”
“Yes,” I say and lean into her warmth. “But we’re past that now.”
“I hope so,” she says, but the doubt in her tone is clear.
“Colleen?” I place a kiss on her forehead. “We are.”
She snuggles up closer to me.
I wrap an arm around her and continue. “My mom kicked him out after she put the pieces together. She did her best with me, but her downward spiral started and just never stopped. As a kid, I thought she was just sad, but now, as an adult, I can see she was clinically depressed. When I was around twelve and it became clear my mom couldn’t take good care of me, my buddy Trent’s family took me in. Raised me as their own. My mom passed the summer I turned eighteen.”
