“Not for me, they aren’t,” I tell her with a playful grin, though I really am serious.
I never really approved of the strip club, and I always hated when my mom would bring me around my uncle when I was a kid. It felt like he was taking advantage of the women that worked for him. He would watch them with leering eyes, and I would look away from it. It never seemed right to me to treat women that way.
Right now, I feel that same streak of protective indignance for Kathleen.
“Hey, so what did you want to ask me earlier?” she asks as she looks up at me with those big, light eyes and dark lashes that frame pale green irises. “You said that you wanted to ask me something, right? So what exactly was it?”
I clear my throat, shuffle my weight just a bit, guiltily looking down at my coffee mug. Now I don’t want to ask her. She’s going to see it the wrong way entirely.
“Oh,” Kathleen says softly, and a weight drops in my stomach. “Right, of course, it’s the old ‘how did you end up here’ question, right? That’s what everyone wants to know. Of course, that’s what you want to know too.”
“Not entirely,” I admit, staring at her. “I just want to know what happened.”
Kathleen scoffs, and her eyes glitter. I can see that spark of a temper that her father always carried. “I know what you want to say. I don’t need charity.”
“But you’re working two jobs….,” I begin, trying to convince her.
For some reason, this woman from my memories is taking up residence in my heart. I want to take care of her so badly and ensure she always has what she needs.
She should never be left out in the cold for any reason.
“A lot of people work two jobs, Eddie,” Kathleen snaps, sounding very mature for how young she looks. “Do I have it rough? Yeah, but I don’t need charity.”
“I’m not saying that you need charity,” I tell her in a pacifying tone, raising my hands in surrender. “I’m just saying that this is not like you. You were always a smart kid. Your mom always said you were an A+ student at school. Your dad….”
Kathleen releases a huff of air, her bottom lip quivering. “Don’t you think I know all that? But my life isn’t black and white or good and bad. A lot of it is shitty, and I have had to pull myself off the ground and give up on some dreams so I could keep living—but you know what? I’m alive. My dad is in prison, and I’m doing the best I can, and you don’t understand anything.”
Kathleen moved to stand up, promising to take my heart with her as she does.
“Kat…,” I begin, wondering what I can possibly say to make her stay.
“If you would have thought to ask me,” she snaps, her hands shaking. “I’m working two jobs because my mom is sick, Eddie. I’m taking care of her and my little brother. Okay? Happy? Do you feel good about yourself now?”
Kathleen leaves the diner so fast that I don’t even have time to chase after her, and the heavy feeling in my stomach grows more nauseating. I can’t let her get away. I can’t let my pride pull the two of us apart.
CHAPTERTHREE
Kathleen
My apartment building is run-down and smells of mold. Water drips from everywhere I look, and there’s a draft that never seems to leave in the stairwell.
Stevie wraps me in a bear hug when I open the door. His hair smells of the cheap pumpkin shampoo I’ve always liked, and he’s freshly showered from earlier.
“You brushed your teeth, right?” I ask him, holding his shoulders. He looks just like my dad. “Cavities are not our friend, Stevie. Repeat after me now….”
“Cavities are villains,” Stevie nods, grinning. He has my dad’s curly, brown hair and my mom’s green eyes, my green eyes. “I know, and I brushed them, Kat.”
“You are one smart cookie,” I tell him, ruffling his hair with my hand.
“Can you bring some back from the diner tomorrow?” My little brother asks me hopefully, following me into the little kitchenette. “Cookies, I mean?”
I grin, reaching up to grab a cup. “Chocolate chip or oatmeal raisin?”
“Oatmeal raisin!” Stevie tells me, doing a little dance of excitement.
Any other child might have jumped at the chance for sugary chocolate, but Stevie has grown up watching me scarf down oatmeal cookies, and we’ve never had enough money for good chocolate anyway.
“You got it, boss,” I tell him as I sip at the water I’ve just poured. Despite the chilly fall wind, the bus ride to the apartment had been hot and humid, and I’m parched enough for two. “Wait, why are you up right now?”