Page 100 of Fostering Chemistry
“Do you want to tell me?”
He reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. He handed me a folded and creased sheet of paper. “You can see for yourself.”
My hand shook slightly as I took the paper from him. People didn’t generally keep a well-worn letter on them if it was good news.
I read the short letter once, and then twice. A tear slipped down my face.
“It took me years to find her,” Diego said quietly. “And another couple of years to get the courage to write to her. And as you can see, she wants nothing to do with me—my own birth mother.”
The terse message had been very clear on that point. She had a new family. She didn’t want anything to do with a long-forgotten son. “I’m sorry.”
“Me too.” He raked a hand through his hair. “But it doesn’t excuse what I did at the party.”
“You were upset. We both were.”
“I should’ve known better.”
Wait, what? “We were both sad and drunk.”
“And you deserved to commiserate with your friends, not get groped by a stranger.”
My jaw dropped. “From what I remember, the groping was mutual.”
“I’m older. I should’ve known better. I took advantage of you when you were?—”
The anguish on his face was real. And completely unwarranted. “That was on both of us.”
“I’m your RA. I’m supposed to?—”
“You weren’t back then.” I needed a moment to gather my thoughts, so I held up a hand when he seemed like he was about to speak. “Let me get this straight. We were both very upset. We were both drunk. We were both all over each other—but that somehow makes you the bad guy and me the victim?”
He hesitated, and then said, “Yes.”
“Oh, right. Because women are weak and delicate and must be protected.”
“Mia, you were drunk.”
“So were you!”
He stood abruptly, pacing. “I should’ve dealt with it better.”
“Why? Have you had a lot of practice receiving letters like this?” I held it up and he snatched it back, coming no closer than he had to.
“I haven’t been handling things well. That night or since.”
“You’re only three years older than me, Diego. While it would be nice to think that in three years, I will be a wise, mature adult who never makes a mistake, it’s unrealistic. No one expects that of you, so don’t expect it of yourself.”
Diego sat down again. “You sound pretty damn wise at age twenty.”
“It won’t happen again.”
That made the corner of his mouth rise, so briefly that I almost missed it. “I really fucked things up, didn’t I?” he asked.
“At the party? No. We were both wasted. But yeah, things haven’t been great this past week or so. Freaking out when you remembered it was me, getting so loud you woke a baby, and let’s not forget inviting us to the world’s most awkward picnic today.”
I studied his face, at the misery and regret there. And I didn’t want to see it. He’d done all those things, but he’d also taken me to the clinic and carried me up the stairs and done his best to make me feel welcome in this house. Probably the best thing for him was if I left him alone and shared no more closeness with him than I did with Raymond or Evan. But I didn’t want to dothat. There was so much to like about him, but it had gotten so damn complicated. And he wasn’t the only man that had been on my mind lately.
“I fucked things up,” he said again.
