The Same Place (The Lamb and the Lion #2) - Gregory Ashe Page 0,127
living in a world that doesn’t have any meaning, about choosing who you want to be and then being authentic—that’s what I want for you. Well, for me too.”
“I guess liars aren’t very authentic.”
“I think you’re the most authentic person I’ve ever met,” Tean said quietly. “I don’t want you to be like everyone else; I want you to be you, the real you. I want you to be happy. After you told me some of the stuff you went through growing up, I did some reading.”
“Oh no.”
“Kids who go through foster care, they have so many extra challenges. Substance dependency, criminal convictions, learning disabilities, unemployment, limited education—the rates for foster care kids are astronomically high in all those areas. I thought if I helped you, you could, you know, have a happy, fulfilling life.”
“Tean, I am happy. Well, I’m miserable right now, but most of the time I’m happy.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I don’t know—I just get scared, and I want your life to be better, and I know that’s messed up and wrong.”
“No,” Jem said. “I mean, I have sometimes thought about college. Fuck, finishing high school, I guess. Or my GED. But maybe I need to be able to get through Dick and Jane first. And I like that you want to make my life better. That’s one of the many things I like about you. I’m just going to tell you when I need you to back off a little, starting now.”
Tean nodded. Then suddenly he looked like he was about to cry, and his voice broke as he said, “Jem, why didn’t you tell me about your mom?”
“Oh,” Jem said. “Shit.”
Squaring his shoulders, Tean took a deep breath. Jem recognized that look. Tean intended to wait.
Jem said, “What was I supposed to say? ‘Hey, remember the heartless bitch who ran out on me? The same one who left me in those shithole care homes, the same one who probably never even knew I spent years in Decker? Well, funny story, turns out she also stole my identity and ruined my credit. Oh, and she’s rich now. And she remarried. And she’s got two kids, and the new batch must have turned out better because you should have seen the way she was looking at them. She definitely loves the little sons of bitches.’ Is that how I should have introduced the subject?”
“Something like that, I guess.”
“Fuck, Tean, I don’t know. I don’t want to think about it, much less talk about it. It’s not like it changes anything. Maybe if I watch enough TV, that part of my brain will die and I won’t have to remember it anymore.”
Tean hooked a finger in his collar. “I’m going to tell you I did something, and I think you’re going to be mad.”
“That’s ok. I know a great place to get more oxy.”
“I—I might have called her.”
“You called her?”
“When I couldn’t find you. I got worried, and you dropped that piece of paper, so I found her phone number.”
“Oh my God.”
“But I didn’t tell her who I really was. I pretended I was with a service that helped people track down their biological parents. She said—she said she’d like to meet you. If you’re interested.”
“Oh my God,” Jem whispered between his fingers.
“And I didn’t give her any information about you.”
“But she can call you. She has your phone number. She can figure out who you are. She can track me down.”
“No.” Tean actually looked like he was trying to shrink inside his polo. “I bought a disposable prepaid cell phone.”
Jem dropped his hands. “You bought a burner?”
“I thought it might be safer.”
“Like a drug dealer?”
“More like an off-the-grid but nobly minded rugged individualist.”
For a moment, Jem thought about this. “You are one devious motherfucker.”
“Jem!” Then, sitting up straighter, “I am?”
“Definitely. I’m honestly flattered I’ve had this kind of influence on you.”
“Then you’re going to love this next part.” Tean stood up and held his arms out, Frankenstein’s monster-style, and took a few steps towards Jem.
“What is this? What are you doing?” Jem backed up a few steps, which he distantly realized meant sacrificing his improvised barricade of the armchair. “We already did the ‘Monster Mash,’ and legally we can’t do it again until October.”
“It’s not the ‘Monster Mash.’” Tean kept coming. “You told me sometimes you need to know people care about you. Especially when you’re hurting. And it’s not about words.”
“Well, that was more of a ‘Jem-teaching-Tean’ thing, not really something we need to—” Jem moved