With a raised brow, she walked over to the island and sat on one of the stools. “I was saying that I didn’t want to be alone, and since my best friend is in London and no one else knows the truth about you and the baby, you were my only option. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Trust me, you’re all right,” I muttered. “I’m not as shitty of a person as I might seem. You’re always welcome here, Amelia.”
She grew silent at my words. I felt her eyes on me as I took her food out of the microwave and placed it in front of her. I sat beside her and watched as she ate. It was hard to explain, but I felt a need to make sure that she—and our son—were well fed and healthy. The fear and agony I had felt that day at the hospital was something I was determined to never feel again.
“Can I ask you something?” Amelia hesitantly asked after two bites of risotto.
I nodded and leaned on the counter. “Sure. I don’t see why not.”
She took a long breath and looked down at her plate. “Why exactly don’t you want to be responsible for the baby?”
I knew she had been silently wondering that for the past few months, but I hadn’t expected her to actually ask me about it. Or maybe I had just hoped she wouldn’t since I wasn’t comfortable talking about that subject.
My family history and the reason why I was so against committing and having a family of my own was something I had never discussed with anyone. Most people assumed I wasn’t ready to grow up, which was partially correct. However, it wasn’t the whole truth.
For a moment, I debated whether or not I should answer her. Then I realized that in spite of my personal feelings, Amelia deserved some answers. I just wasn’t sure I was ready to give them to her.
“You don’t have to answer that if you don’t want to,” she said after a few long minutes of silence. “I’m just curious.”
I straightened my back and shook my head. “I just . . . I just don’t know how to talk about it,” I explained. “I’ve never talked about it with anyone. It’s something I’d rather keep locked back in the past, you know?”
Amelia tilted her head. “And you think that’s healthy?”
“Of course it’s not healthy,” I said with a chuckle. “But alcohol, money, and sex make excellent therapists.”
She looked half amused and half sympathetic. “Weird, I though they were only great at momentarily covering those metaphorical holes in people’s hearts.”
With me usually only talking to airheaded models, I was used to only having shallow and pointless conversations with the opposite sex. For that reason, her insight and sharp wit felt refreshing and incredibly alluring. I couldn’t help the smirk that formed on my face.
“As a matter of fact, they do. They’re also amazing escapes from reality and responsibility.” Amelia laughed at my words. It was a sound I thoroughly enjoyed and hoped to hear more often. Once her laughs died, I asked, “Do you really want to know?”
She nodded. “I do.”
“Fine, but I’m not talking about this sober.” I sighed and stood up from the stool.
Amelia continued to eat as I walked over to the little bar I kept in the living room and poured myself a hefty glass of scotch. She watched me as I returned to the kitchen and took my seat.
“My dad was almost forty when he married my mom. She was nineteen,” I started after a gulp of the amber liquid. Amelia sat quietly, eating my words up with as much gusto as she ate the risotto. “I don’t remember them actually acting like they were in love. It was more like he paid the bills and she did whatever he told her to do.” I scoffed and looked out the kitchen window as I added, “They did have two children, so I guess they must have had some good times. I just never understood how she could possibly want anything to do with him.”
I shook my head and looked back at Amelia. She had stopped eating and was now devoting her full attention to me. “You see, my father was a class-A jerk. He did drugs, cheated on my mother, and couldn’t keep a job to save his life. My mom had to work two full-time jobs to support us, and he still blew whatever she earned on women and drugs.”
The words were hard for me to say. I hated that life and every memory attached to it. Seeing my discomfort, Amelia’s hand covered mine in a display of affection and support that only added a new layer to my distress. For me, it was easier to bury my dick in a random pussy than to have someone I was starting to care about show me affection.
I pulled my hand out of her grasp but smiled at her so I wouldn’t seem too rude. She gave an understanding glance as I continued. “When I got older, I got a job mowing lawns to help Mom with the bills, but he took that money too,” I muttered before I gulped down my scotch. “One day my mom reached her breaking point and confronted him, but instead of respect, that asshole gave her a black eye and a broken nose. I was too young and afraid to step in and help her, so he continued to beat her up until she’d finally had enough.