Page 61 of Trucker
“Can you stay and eat with me?” He asked.
“Would you like that?”
“Yes.” Trucker admitted.
“Then sure. But can we stay like this for a few more seconds?”
He tightened his embrace around me.
“What kind of question is that?” Trucker asked. “Of course. Besides, standing like this gives me a chance to feel your boobs.”
I laughed out loud.
“Stop that!” I giggled then stepped back.
Trucker grabbed the package from the back of my car, took my hand and led me over to the lawn area. We ate together, enjoying the cool breeze that swirled around us from the trees behind us.
“Are you an only child?” Trucker wanted to know.
“Yeah.” I smiled. “I was anoopsbaby.”
“Your parents told you that?”
“Yup.” I laughed. “Every chance they got. My grandfather adored me though. I was Pop’s little girl. He taught me everything. How to ride a bike. How to change a flat. How to drive—what my period was.”
“Wait—didn’t your mother teach you that?”
“No.” I managed. “My mother didn’t even know I got my period earlier than most girls. Don’t get me wrong, my parents loved me. But sometimes I just felt as if I ruined their lives, you know?”
“How so?”
“My mother never lost the baby weight.” I shrugged. “She wasn’t ready to have kids—she wanted to travel a lot more.”
“You can have kids and still travel.” Trucker pointed out.
“I know that.” I replied. “You know that. When I was old enough to realize what was happening, she would stand in front of the mirror, tugging at her muffin top—or a picture of her before me would fall out of a box or something and we’d lose her to staring at it all afternoon. She was so skinny before she got pregnant. Like, I would see pictures of her and thought that if she turned sideways, she’d disappear. I can’t remember catching my father being gentle with her or loving…”
“That’s not your fault.” He encouraged me.
I shrugged. “What about you?”
“Street kid.” He replied. “My father was killed while my mother was pregnant, and she never really got over it. People told me his death made her check out.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah. After about five years of struggling with me, she handed me over to a fire station and walked away.”
“I’m sorry.” I murmured.
“It’s okay.” Trucker straightened his leg. “I was lucky to have a grandmother who went for me after she found out where I was. But at least, she handed me to people who would make sure I was good.”
“But she didn’t know that.”
“But still.”
I sighed.
“Is that why you’re a firefighter?” I asked, softly. “To save others like they saved you?”
