that day too. Ate dinner one-handed so no one could take him." Claire fell quiet, and her eyes were heavy on me. "Why the trip down memory lane?"
Have you ever felt like someone shoved a ball of yarn down your throat? That was the closest thing it felt like when I tried to swallow.
"I'm twenty-two with a big, loving family, and a healthy savings account."
"That's all very true."
"I'm going to keep it," I said quietly. There was time to figure everything else out. But if anyone could count on their family to help them through something like this, it was us. Each one of them would walk through fire for me. Just like I'd do for them.
Her eyes filled. "Okay."
"But I still have to talk to Jude."
Claire wiped at her face. "Yeah, you probably do."
"And," I said slowly, "I need to tell Logan. And Paige. Oh my gosh, Paige is gonna fly here like, tomorrow, isn't she?"
My sister smiled. "She might."
Fingers drumming on my leg, I made a split-second decision. "Can I ask you a massive, horrible favor where you don't say a word to any of them?"
"Lia," she said in a warning tone. "You have to tell them.
"I will! Just let me talk to Jude first. I can't handle them all freaking out and asking me what I need and what I'm going to do. I won't have answers to any of their questions."
She conceded with a reluctant nod.
"Thank you. I love you."
"I love you too." She sighed. "Do you want to keep talking?"
"No. I should text him and see if he can get together in the next couple of days."
We said our goodbyes shortly after, and I remained sitting on my bathroom floor for a few minutes longer. How did you even properly try to absorb the magnitude of that discovery?
In one moment, all the choices in my life had shifted, like the clicking letters on a train station arrival board.
My life would quite literally never be the same after this.
Neither would Jude's. I didn't even know if he had any other kids. Or a hidden girlfriend. Or maybe he was crazy. Regardless, he should know. If he chose not to step up, then I gave him the option, and the responsibility was on him.
Funny how being abandoned voluntarily by one of your birth parents colored your judgment on stuff like that. With that thought ... my thumbs flew across the screen.
Me: I'm actually open the next two evenings if you are. I'd love to see your neck of the woods.
Jude responded almost immediately.
Jude: What a very American phrase, but tomorrow evening is free in my 'neck of the woods'. If you're good with eating dinner at my place, I can send you the address.
Me: Send away.
Chapter Eight
Jude
I never usually gave much thought to what someone thought of my house. Usually being the operative word. My housekeeper, Mrs. Atkinson (whose first name was Rebecca, but I never dared called her that), tutted at me all day while I hovered around her, cleaning behind where she'd just done.
"Bloody footballer," she muttered, swatting at me with a dusting thing/weapon. "Go kick something and let me do my job."
"She's never been here, and I like this one. I told you that, right?"
She rolled her eyes. Yes. I'd told her.
If fans of Shepperton FC, the mighty Shorthorns, had any idea that their midfielder's only friend was his fifty-five-year-old housekeeper, they'd piss themselves.
"If you're so concerned with what the young lady thinks," Rebecca said with the patience of a saint and the advice of a bloody therapist, "go to the market and get her some flowers or buy her some chocolates."
While she dusted the rest of the family room, I sat on the large gray couch. "You don't think that's too cliché?"
"If a man bought me flowers and chocolates, I'd spend the night flat on my back without blinking."
Groaning, I covered my face. "Mrs. A, have pity."
She cackled. "Get out of here while I finish, young man. You should go do drills in the garden. The way you were handling the ball on Monday was a tragedy. You're slipping in your old age."
"Et tu?" I asked dryly, standing from the couch. "If I'm old, what does that make you?"
"Well-seasoned and incredibly smart." She eyed me over the edge of her glasses. "Is that what you're wearing?"
I glanced down at my white T-shirt and black trousers. "What?"
"You look like you're going to serve her coffee, not romance her." Rebecca set down the dusting wand.