Page 85 of The Lair

“You’re one of the lucky ones, then.”

He glances at me for a beat too long. “I am.”

We go back to our soups, sitting in a comfortable silence with only the TV to fill it until he asks, “What’s your comfort food?”

I finish up my soup before answering, “Carrot cake.”

He smirks again. “Of course it is.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” I feign outrage.

“You took home two slices when we celebrated Sandra’s birthday last year.”He remembers. “And you ordered some at Barbara’s not that long ago.”

“Guilty. It’s my comfort foodandmy favorite food.”

“I thought comfort food was supposed to be something hot with a lot of cheese.”

“Maybe. I mean, I wouldn’t say no to some grilled-cheese sandwiches when I’m feeling miserable. But because I lived alone for a long time, there was nobody to make them for me, and I didn’t have the energy to cook. Store-bought carrot cake always did the trick. I’m not picky.”

The admission slips out, and I don’t realize it until he asks, “How long have you been on your own?”

With a sudden lump in my throat, I busy myself collecting our bowls now that he’s finished, and I stand. “Since I was nineteen.”

I head back to the kitchen and force myself to relearn how to breathe as I rinse the bowls before putting them in the dishwasher. I didn’t lie to him, so why do I still feel like crap?

Travis is openly looking at me as I leave the kitchen.

“Can you turn off the living room light, please?” he asks softly. “The darkness helps with my headache.”

Silently, I do as he says and plop back on my designated spot on the couch.

“Why nineteen?”

My palms get sweaty, but I can’t find it within me to not answer. “Remember how I told you I had a… a difficult family life?”

“Something like that,” he tells me as he reclines on the couch, draping an arm around the back. His fingers are almost grazing the back of my head. “You told me,something like that.”

How does he have such a good memory?

“Well, that’s why I left at nineteen. I waited until I was old enough and felt ready,” I explain, not surprised to feel out of breath. Will it ever get easier to talk about this? “I’m not sure if I’ve ever told you about Jada.”

“Is she an aunt?” He frowns, thinking. “You talk about her when Sandra asks about your family.”

“She’s technically not family, but…”

“Blood doesn’t always make family,” he says. The light coming from the TV casts a glow on his face, which looks softer than usual.

I give him a small nod. “I know.”

“Good.”

“Jada is…wasmy schoolteacher,” I tell him for the first time. “For a long time, she was the only adult I could rely on. Her husband too.”

Travis tilts his head. “You don’t talk to your parents anymore?”

I shake my head.

I can tell he wants to ask more questions, but I appreciate that he doesn’t. More than he knows.

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