Page 14 of Risks

I snort. “You’re not the only one Imiss. There’s Kenya, too. I can’t wait to see her tomorrow.”

“Hm.” He nods to the plate, asking,“All set?”

“Yeah.”

As he carries everything to thekitchen, I head into the bathroom to shower.

Thoughts creep in about my mom’sfather and mine while I stand under the rushing water.

Why do some men bail after gettingwomen pregnant? Why abandon their responsibilities and leave it all to the mothers?Why does society blame women for not choosing better but don’t hold menaccountable?

Ugh.

I shake away the many questions andsuppress the ache that’s been numb for years.

When I step out of the bathroom, Ifind Varen arched over at the side of the bed in deep thought.

“What’s on your mind?” I ask.

He looks up, expression serious.“You never talk about your father.”

Not sure why, but my heart starts torace. “So?” I undo the towel and pull my nightshirt from the suitcase.

“After hearing your grandfatherpassed… Well, I was wondering—”

“Don’t, Varen.” I know what he’s aboutto say, and I’m not sure I can handle the conversation. I climb into bed and liewith my back turned. “I have no desire to meet that man, much less talk abouthim.”

“I’m sorry,” he rasps.

I hear ruffling before he flicks offthe light and comes back to bed, holding me from behind.

I stare into the shadows, listeningto Varen’s steady breathing and finding comfort in his arms.

“I do think about him sometimes,” Iadmit in a quiet voice. “Then, I remember he abandoned my mom and me. If I letmyself go there, I’ll become angry, and I don’t want to live like that. I’mhappy, V. I’m okay with not knowing him.”

Varen releases a low rumble as if hedoesn’t believe me. The truth is, I’m not sure that’s what I really want.

“All right.” He presses a sweet kisson my cheek. “Get some sleep. I love you.”

“Love you.”

Right here with him is all I need.

Nothing else.

I refuse to have any more thoughtsof someone who neglected me.

8

I arrive at the house thinking Momwill be in her room avoiding company. The last thing I expect is to see her inthe kitchen, singing and swaying to a Whitney Houston dance track whilepreparing for Thanksgiving.

It’s a total switch from the cryingmess she was the night before.

Bewildered, I flick my gaze toAlison standing at the island. She shrugs and continues chopping up vegetables.

If cooking and being festive willhelp Mom take her mind off her father’s death, so be it. Whatever makes herhappy.

We work together to prepare themeals and catch up over dinner.

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