His fear of abandonment. “I’d hate for you to give up school. You’re so smart. I saw your transcripts from before she got sick. You can’t give that up now. You’re welcome here for as long as you’d like. If you’re uncomfortable with me, I can even start scouting out your own apartment in the building. I want to help you.”
“No, it’s not that,” I quickly amended. “I’m really thankful that you’ve been so receptive to me reaching out and letting me stay here. I just...I’m not sure where home is right now? I’m not sure what I’m doing. And I don’t want you to feel obligated to take care of me if this doesn’t work out.”
Lance took a moment to take in my words, chewing on his tongue as he did. Decker sat on the bed and trailed his finger over the edge of my backpack, watching our interaction with interest. I had a feeling he’d be doing that a lot—watching and observing.
I turned my attention back to Lance. “I don’t feel obligated in the slightest. I want to know you. I want to know my birth mom. I want a relationship with you. What can I do to make this feel less like a charitable exchange? I can work with pride. I can’t work with losing you before we even get the chance to know one another.”
I wanted to scream from the rooftops that my problem had nothing to do with pride. I wasn’t the type to think myself above getting help. I’d just been burned so many times I didn’t believe there was any good left in people. But I didn’t say that. “How about I pay rent?” I offered. “I could easily find a job. And if we get along, I’ll happily pay to live here.”
“You couldn’t afford the rent,” Decker coughed under his breath, but Lance ignored him.
“I don’t need the money, Blakely,” he replied instantly. “How about this, every day you stay, just tell me something new about our mother? Just one little fact. Doesn’t have to be crazy. I’m just…” he began, pausing as he searched for the right words to say. “Struggling to cope with the idea that I’ll never get to know her. And I also want to know you.”
I mulled over his words for a moment before turning to look at Decker, who was staring right back at me. My earlier words held like an anvil over us. The truth would devastate Lance. I wasn’t even sure I could handle being the one to burst his bubble. It was a fair trade, I supposed. Painful honesty in exchange for survival. Turning back to Lance, I spoke.
“Okay. I can do that. For now. What do you want to know?”
“Anything. I want to know about Sharron—our mother.”
I ran through a list of things I knew about my mother, trying to sift around the toxic memories to find something that would be good enough for him. With a sigh, I finally decided on something surface level. “She loved pancakes. We once had them every night for dinner for an entire week. She’d drown hers in syrup until it was more like soup than anything else,” I offered with a shrug. And damn, Lance’s entire face lit up like I’d given him a gold mine. It kind of made me feel good, despite the half-truth rolling around in my chest, begging to break free.
“I love pancakes, too! My parents used to make fun of me for putting so much syrup on them.” His face took on a dream-like quality for a moment before he snapped his fingers. “We should all go out for an early dinner. I know this place down the street that sells the best pancakes. You’ll love it. I’ll go get my wallet.”
Spinning around, he left without another word, excited to memorialize Mama’s habits with the little bit of information I gave him. Squeezing my eyes shut, I forced myself to calm the raging storm in my mind and convince myself that I could spin little half-truths into a pretty portrait of Mama. I could give Lance the optimistic version of my childhood and hold the ugly inside. I’d have to think of more positives though.
I’d almost forgotten that Decker was still there. It wasn’t until he stood up and moved to the spot right behind me that I sucked in a breath of air at his close proximity. I could practically feel his heat at my back, his all-knowing presence.