Page 104 of Chase
My mom doesn’t paint, but she does like hearing me talk about it, so it’s a welcome distraction.
“I think I love most of his stuff. You know, your father hated that type of painting. Said it just looked like colors on a canvas. I don’t know where you got your creativity, but it certainly wasn’t from him.”
Mom chuckles as she talks about my father.
But my chest tightens every time she brings him up.
My mom never knew the worst of it. Dad never hurt me when she was around, somehow carefully making sure that she was always out at work or at the store anytime he hit me. She was aware that Dad wished I played sports, but around her, he never said it with as much acid in his voice.
And she also wasn’t around whenever he called my art “worthless.”
I never had the heart to admit it to her.
To her, Dad was just a serious, hard worker who always brought home a good income to take care of the family. Shewas devastated when he died, and every time she brings him up now, I hold back from describing just how horrific my relationship with my father became.
It’s always been the only secret that Julian and I keep from our mom.
Well, until the secret of Logan, I guess.
But at least when Mom started watchingYard Linea few months ago, it was a more pleasant secret to have rattling around in my heart.
“I’m glad we fixed the thermostat,” I tell her.
“Hah. Noweabout it. You’re a godsend, Chasey. I’m going to go finish this crossword puzzle. Have a good night with this friend. Whoever they are.”
She winks at me and I can’t help but smile a little. “Night, Mom.”
When I hang up, Logan strides back into the room with a plate in his hand. There are slices of fresh mango, some raspberries and strawberries, and a bowl of whipped cream next to them.
“I know it’s not much compared to the desserts you make in the restaurant now, but they’re ripe and fucking delicious,” Logan says.
“This is perfect.” I dip a slice of mango into the cream and take a bite. “Our head pastry chef works for hours to make cakes and pies, and I swear fresh fruit in cream is just as good. Damn.”
We devour most of the plate, and Logan relaxes a little afterward.
“I’m jealous of how you talk to your mom,” he finally says.
“What? Really?”
He nods. “She talks to you like you guys are friends. My parents are so formal. Even my siblings are. When they call me, every Saturday morning, I swear it’s almost like abusiness call. Always the same questions, and never anything too personal or too real.”
“I assume there aren’t many emotions on display?”
Logan grimaces. “Zero. Sometimes it feels like my parents are just trying to play the role of perfect parents, and in the end there’s not really any room for pesky things likefeelings.”
I shake my head. “I can’t imagine. My mom is just as blunt as I am, and before my dad died, there sure as fuck wasn’t any question what he thought.”
“I remember you mentioned you had a hard time with your dad,” Logan says gently.
“I told you that?”
He nods. His eyes start to search my face, and I can’t tell if there’s pity beneath his curiosity or if I’m just afraid of that.
“You said that you struggled against authority figures in school, and your father.”
It strikes me that Logan’s remembering something specific about me that I must have told him last year, and there is a silver lining to the cloud.
He remembers things about me.
