Page 60 of Trust Me

I look away.

“My grandmother loves grilled cheese and tomato soup so much because that’s what her parents made for her … but theirs came out of a can. She wasn’t born with a silver spoon. In fact, she probably never even sawrealsilver until she went away to college. It’s hard to find in the backwoods of Appalachia.”

“Appalachia?” I ask.

He nods. “That’s where she’s from. Barely had running water growing up.”

His words sound earnest. Kyle isn’t the type to make things up to get anyone’s approval. So, it must be the truth.

I probably should apologize for my assumptions but I don’t. Instead, I go with the truth.

“We had running water, but we moved around so much when I was a kid, it was hard even remembering my address most of the time.”

“We?” he questions.

“My father, older brother, and me. Well, Wallace Jr, my brother, is ten years older than me. So, when I was about nine he left home and went out on his own.”

“Your father raised you?”

I notice Kyle hasn’t even opened his laptop. His long legs are stretched out on the bed, crossed at the ankles. He looks perfectly comfortable as he leans back against the headboard. And his presence feels … right.

My heart squeezes in my chest, and I become aware that it aches for things it shouldn’t want.

“If you can call it that,” I scoff. “He was my guardian. My mother split before I turned one.”

“You two aren’t close?” he asks.

“Weren’t …” I give Kyle a look out of the corner of my eye. “He’s dead.”

He pinches his lips. “I’m sorry. Even the death of a shitty parent can be painful.”

I swallow the sudden lump that occurs in my throat.

“No big deal,” I say, my voice sounding thin. “I’ve made due on my own. I left his household the day I turned eighteen and never looked back.” Well, not really.

“That must’ve been tough,” he says.

Is that admiration I hear in his voice?

“I lived at a homeless shelter for eighteen months.” Why am I telling him all of this? “It wasn’t a big deal, and it all worked out,” I quickly say, injecting my voice with a cheeriness I don’t feel.

“I told you once today not to lie to me.”

The dark tone his voice takes on, pulls my gaze to meet his.

“You don’t ever have to sugarcoat shit. If your life then was fucked up just say that.”

My vision suddenly becomes blurry, forcing me to look away from Kyle’s penetrating stare. I don’t like thinking about the memories of that time. It was painful realizing that I had no one to depend on but myself. That my family of origin was just one fucked-up group of people with similar DNA.

“I’m not lying,” I reply. “I’m looking on the brighter side of the situation.”

He frowns and then his eyes move to the picture frame on my desk. He nods toward it.

A genuine smile tips the corners of my mouth. I pick up the framed postcard.

“Ms. Edith. She was the director of the homeless shelter. She used to always say, ‘look on the bright side.’” My smile widens at the memory. “You have your grandmother’s grilled cheese and tomato soup, and I had Ms. Edith’s reminder on the really bad days.” I hold up the frame. “She sent this to me when I moved here to Williamsport from LA.”

“That’s why you keep it close.”

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