Page 18 of Sing For Me

I’m enjoying myself, I suddenly realize. How strange.

“I only have one sister. I can’t imagine growing up with three siblings.”

Will makes a scoffing noise. “I grew up with a lot more than that.”

“What do you mean?”

He turns off the gun again to get more ink, but this time he doesn’t go right back to work, stretching out his leg instead while he leans back in his chair. “My dad has three brothers, and they’re really close. They all work together.” A shadow crosses his face and I get the strange feeling he isn’t telling me something. But then his expression evens out again, and I wonder if I imagined it.

“We all grew up in the same neighborhood. I spent almost as much time with my cousins as my own siblings as a kid.”

“How many of you are there?”

“Seventeen.”

“Seventeen?Geez. I have like, two cousins. And they live in Wichita.” I study his face. He looks easy, relaxed, like we could be sitting around talking over a drink or a cup of coffee. “You’re close with your family.”

It’s not really a question, but there’s a noticeable hesitation. And then he picks up his gun again and returns to working on my ankle before he answers, leaving me to wonder if I said something wrong.

“I’m closest with my cousins Rose and River—we share an apartment. We’re about the same age. It’s kind of funny—our dads are all super competitive and they pretty much copy off each other for everything. So all the kids in our family kind of arrived in waves—if one couple got pregnant, pretty soon all the others would be too.”

I laugh. “I guess that would make it more likely you guys would be friends. If you all have cousins close in age.”

“Oh, definitely. The Littles—that’s what we call them, even though they’re teenagers now—were all born within ten months of each other. A kid for each brother, plus one set of twins.”

“Holy shit. So there are five of them the same age?”

He nods, eyes sparkling with humor. “I can never decide what’s worse—back when they were toddlers getting into everything or now that we have five thirteen-year-olds running around at every family function. It’s pretty much always a madhouse.”

“That sounds wonderful,” I murmur, without really meaning to. He looks up at me again and I shift against the pillow. “I don’t have a big family.”

He waits, like he expects me to say more, but when I don’t, he goes back to the tattoo. “Almost done,” he says softly, and my chest squeezes in disappointment.

I don’t want this to end yet.

“You hesitated,” I say, wanting to hear more about his family. About the things and the people that he loves. “When I asked if you were close with your family,” I clarify.

He smirks at my leg. “You’re perceptive.”

“You don’t have to tell me,” I say quickly. “I guess that was pretty nosey.”

“It’s fine. It’s just…” he clears his throat. “Family can be complicated, you know? Even when you love each other.” He nudges me with his free hand. “What about you?”

“Uh.” Why hadn’t I realized he’d eventually ask me about my family too? It’s far from my favorite subject. But somehow, the thought of telling Will doesn’t feel all that bad.

“Nothing much complicated there,” I say. “It’s just me and my sister. Katherine. She’s four years younger than me.”

“Parents?”

“Never knew my dad. He took off before Kat was out of diapers.” I swallow. “My mom died when I was eighteen. Cancer.”

The gun abruptly cuts off. “Jesus, Eva. I’m sorry.”

It’s a sentiment I’ve heard hundreds of times. Really, what else is there to say when someone tells you they’re an orphan? Usually when this subject comes up, most people get real awkward real fast. I don’t blame them—loss makes everyone uncomfortable.

But the weird thing about Will? He actually meets my eye when he speaks those words. If he’s uncomfortable, he’s not showing it. All I can see in his expression is genuine sympathy.

“Thank you,” I murmur, looking away. “It was a tough time. Katherine was so young.”