Page 7 of Our Blood, Our Pain

“Stop sulking. It was never more than a quick text. Me and your mom have a complicated past. It’s worked out better to just keep contact simple.”

“I’m not sulking,” I say, in a sulky voice.

“If you say so.”

“What happened between you and Mom?”

“I think she resents me for being at home with our parents after they kicked her out. She’s made a story up in her mind that I had the perfect childhood, which is bullshit. But I was no better. I blamed her for the family falling apart.”

“Because of me?”

“Yes, but I was an angry teen needing to find someone to blame. Which was our parents. But the tension will always be there as Jenny will never let it go, and that’s all I’ll say.”

“Ever heard of tact?”

“No. Now I’ll ask you a question.”

Before he gets to ask the question, the waitress arrives, notepad in hand, ready to take our orders.

“What can I get ya both?” she asks.

“I’ll just take a coffee, thanks,” Jules says.

“Same.”

She doesn’t speak as she wanders off, and returns back with the coffee pot and fills two large mugs. The smell of caffeine triggers my thirst, as I remember I haven’t had a drink of any kind this morning.

Feeling eyes on me as I fill my cup of coffee with the creamer that the waitress left, I look up to meet those blue eyes that only ever lived in my dreams.

“What?”

“You’re nothing like I remembered. I wouldn’t have recognized you if you’d passed me on the street.”

I scoff at that.

“How nice of you to say.”

“It’s true, no need for the sarcasm.”

“Sarcasm is my middle name,” I say, before taking a sip of my coffee.

“And punisher is mine, so watch it.”

“Relax, can’t you take any teasing, Frank?” I laugh to myself at The Punisher TV Show reference. Such a geek.

“No.”

My eyes shoot up to meet his, is he for real? From the indifference on his face, he’s serious, as the joke has gone over his head, which horrifies me. How has he not seen that show? I’m about to come up with another retort, but get distracted when he licks his bottom lip, highlighting how plump it is.

“Getting back to what I wanted to ask you. Why were you in a gang?”

That question makes me chuckle, but it’s without humor. I just don’t know the answer and it’s embarrassing. He’s been in my presence for an hour and I already don’t want him thinking about how dumb I am.

“I wasn’t intentionally in a gang. They never said I was part of the gang. My friend Jez just took me to meet his brother and friends, said that I could earn some money and we started to hang out. A lot. Then everything spiraled and got worse and I got stuck.”

“What about college?”

“I flunked high school.”

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