Page 30 of If Not for My Baby
But he only cocks his head. “Why do you think that would be weird? I miss my parents, too. They’re some of my favorite people.”
Something in my chest constricts and I imagine what it would be like to offer him a hug. I imagine he’s the kind of person who would warmly accept, even if he didn’t really want one.
“How does your dad feel knowin’ you favor your mam?”
“I never met him, actually. My mom had me at sixteen. It’s always just been us two.”
Halloran nods, but doesn’t sayI’m sorrynorhow brave of her, which are my two least favorite responses.
“I don’t mean only us like my mom’s my only friend,” I add. “I have friends.” The brakes on this train are failing. I don’t know how to stay on the tracks—I want to tell him things. I want to study his reactions, see what he deems interesting or boring or salacious. Halloran looks to be fighting a smile, which doesn’t help anything at all.
Stop talking. Just stop talk— “You met my friend Everly, actually. The one who got me this job.”
“Right.” He nods in memory. “Kudos to her. Gabby’s a sensational performer.”
“Yeah, she’s over the moon about it.”
“Dropped me right quick.” He fake-scoffs. “The nerve of herself.”
“But you got me instead.” I make phony jazz hands as if I’m some very exciting prize.
Halloran laughs hard, exposing all his gorgeous teeth, and I laugh, too, because I can’t believe how silly I keep allowing myself to be with him.
“I’m actually quite indebted to her for that,” he says. “Remind me to send your Everly an Edible Arrangement.”
“Yeah, sure.Thanks for the small-town hick. She’s never stayed in a hotel and doesn’t know the name of the Washington Monument.”
Halloran raises a brow at me. “That how you see yourself?”
I shrug, and then greatly wish to move on from the bit. “Mike’s a good friend, too, despite everything.”
“Mike…?”
I could have gone anywhere with this runaway train and I conducted it toMike? I’m sending myself to death row. “The sexting fiasco.”
“Ah. Your ex.”
“But it’s been years. And we’re just friends now.”
“…With benefits.”
“Not anymore, I suppose.” The car rounds a bend and I sway into my seat belt. “I have some work friends and some old school friends, too. I’m normal, is what I’m saying.”
“Very normal.” He nods. “The most normal.”
I purse my lips at him but can’t help how my heart continues to race. The car turns onto the freeway and I settle farther into the sticky pleather.
“What kind of work do you do, Clementine?”
His low voice and my name are a deadly combo. I’m too aware of my clothes against my skin when he speaks to me like that.
“I’m a waitress. How’s that for normal?”
But every time I expect pity or judgment, Halloran surprises me. “I was a shite waiter. Far better as a barman, I think. Less talking.”
“I forget you were a regular guy before you were famous.”
“Sure, I worked all the odd jobs back in Dublin. Groundskeeper, golf caddy, futile guitar tutor to a handful of dispirited teens.”
