She started to cry harder.
"It's not fucking fair, Logan." She was almost yelling now. "It's not fair. It's not right and it's not fucking fair. I shouldn't have to wake up one random day and have nothing—and I feel like I can't tell the only person I have in my life any of this because he doesn't get it. He doesn't understand that I just need to miss them, and that he can't fix it. He want's to make sure that I'm okay all the time, and that's great. That's perfect. But sometimes I just need to feel not okay." She couldn't control her breathing anymore.
We were both sitting against the island. I put my arm around her and held her to me. She leaned in and rested her head on my chest. "I just need to feel not okay, Logan. I just need to feel the hurt. All of it. And I don't know that I want him to see that."
I don't know what I was supposed to say. If I was supposed to say anything at all. But I got it. I knew exactly how she felt. Because I'd felt it too. So I told her.
"Micky, I'm adopted."
She instantly stopped crying and pulled her head off my chest, her eyebrows drawn together in confusion.
"Alan, who you met yesterday—he adopted me, when I was a seven. He was the doctor that was working the ER the night my birth mother bought me in. My birth dad—he beat me pretty bad that night."
She gasped.
"I mean, he used to beat me all the time, so I guess it must have been pretty bad, because she took me to hospital..."
"Oh my God." She looked at me, her eyes huge, her hand covering her mouth, tears still falling.
"Yeah, Dad...uh...Alan...he saved me that night, and every night since then. My birth mom, she never came back for me. They waited a month. She never came."
"Oh my God, Logan," she whispered. "I'm so sorry."
"No one knows, Micky. Just you. And I didn't tell you because I wanted your pity. I told you because..." I took a deep breath and thought about my next words. "I told you because I get it. I get what it's like to feel like you depend too much on one person. I felt like that with Alan. I still feel like that, every day. But I couldn't have done it without him, and I think we all need someone to be our strength sometimes, and if you don't want that to be Jake, then you can let that be me...if you want to, I mean. Look, I just... " I blew out a breath. She sat and listened to everything I said. "I just wanted to tell you that I get it. I know what it's like to wake up one day and have nothing—"
"It's not the same—" she started.
I interrupted her. "I know it's not the same, Micky. I know your family died...I'm stupid, I shou—"
"No, Logan." It was her turn to interrupt me. "It's not the same because my family died, I can't see them ever again. You can see yours, but they're that bad a people that you wouldn't want to. It's not the same because I'll always have good memories of my parents and you—you don't even have that." Her voice broke. I held her tighter. Her arms went around me.
I took in her words and let them sink in.
I never thought of my birth parents as a memory. As something I could bring out when I wanted to. And I never thought hard enough for a good memory of them. And even if I did, I don't know that there would be any.
"How do you do it?" she asked. "How do you wake up every day and be the person you are? That's a huge thing to happen to you, and it's not like you just go through life 'getting by'. How are you so normal?"
I thought about my answer for a while. "Because, Micky, it's my past. It's not my future and it sure as shit isn't who I am. I'm not going to let that be me. I'm not going to let abusive or neglectful people ruin me. What they did—that's on them. That's their guilt to carry. It has nothing to do with me or who I am. And so what if it happened," I shrugged, "I lived through it. And that asshole went to jail, my dad—Alan—made sure of it. He made sure he wasn't going to be out there, possibly having more kids to beat on."
It was silent for what seemed like forever. Then finally, she spoke, "God, Logan. You were just a kid..." Another round of sobs took over her. I placed my hand on the back of her head and held her to me as I listened to her cry. There was that same fucking ache in my chest, and I don't exactly know what it was. But it was this moment—this exact moment—with her in my arms, that I felt something. Something I'd never felt before. Ever.
And I got it. I got why Jake wanted to be a rock for this girl. Why he wanted to make sure that she was never hurting, or that she was never sad. I got why he'd do anything to make sure she was okay.
Because I felt it too.
Her sobs grew silent but her tears still fell. Her head lifted from my chest. I moved the hair away from her face. Then she looked up at me, her eyes huge. Expectant. Waiting. For me to say something—anything—that would let her know that it would be okay. That we would be okay. "Micky..."
She sniffed once. I took in her face, and then looked into her eyes, my gaze dropped to her mouth quickly before I spoke. And I don't know why the next question came out, but it did. "Does Jake know you're here?"
She slowly shook her head no.
Then suddenly, the smoke alarm went off.
We pulled apart and were on our feet so quickly, my head spun.
***
She didn't end up cooking dinner. In fact she left pretty much straight away. It was awkward after that, or at least I felt awkward, but it could have just been in my head.
After I cleaned up the mess in the kitchen and put away the groceries, I headed to the pool house for the night. I lay on my bed for I don't know how fucking long, thinking about what ever the hell just happened with Micky, and wishing that some of it, any of it, actually made sense.
I pulled out my phone to look at the time; it was almost nine. There was a text from Amanda at 5:05.
Amanda: Okay? I wish you would have told me earlier. I would have organized a ride home. Can you call me if you get done before 7? I can't get home until then. Hope you're okay.
Shit. I felt like the biggest asshole in the world.
Fuck, I was the biggest asshole in the world.
I was about to the tap the screen to call her, but then I thought about what I was going to say, and I panicked.
The thing was, I really, really liked Amanda. And yeah, we could have gone out a few times to see how things went...but I didn't want to do that to her. Not then. Not when I didn't fucking understand my feelings for Micky. Because Amanda, she was great. She was more than great. She was amazing. And she deserved to find someone that was going to treat her like that. And back then, that wasn't me. Not even close.
I sat up in bed and looked at my phone, trying to play out the words I was going to use when I told her all this. Except nothing came to me. Nothing at all. Not. one. single. fucking. word.
I didn't call her that night, or the night after. Or any of the nights after that.