Part 25 (1/2)
”You are absolutely strong and healthy,” I agreed. ”But what about your father? Didn't he have any say about how you turned out?”
A brief shadow fell over his face. ”He died when I was two. A construction site accident.”
”Oh, I'm so sorry,” I said. ”Do you remember much about him?”
He shook his head. ”Not really. Nothing more than the feeling of him.” His mouth s.h.i.+fted into a wistful bend. ”Does that make sense?”
”Of course it does.” I gave him a tender smile and reached across the table to squeeze his thick fingers. They felt warm and st.u.r.dy. We fit. ”Did your mother remarry?”
He squeezed my hand in return and made no move to pull away. ”No. It's always been just the two of us.” He paused. ”What about you?”
”My family?”
He nodded. ”Brothers? Sisters? Pets? Crazy old aunts locked in the attic?”
I laughed. ”One younger sister, Jessica. And my mother. No pets. Or crazy aunts-that I know of.” My mind flashed briefly on the possibility of telling him about my grandmother, but I decided against it. Not good fodder for a first date.
”And your father?”
”I think I'd call him more of a sperm donor than a father.”
Martin cringed. ”Ouch.”
I shrugged, pulling my hand back from his. ”I was too young when he left for it to affect me very much.” I recited this line out of habit; my mother had said it to me often when I bemoaned the fact that I didn't have a father like most of my friends.
”How old were you?”
”Not quite six months. My mom was about eight weeks pregnant with my sister.”
”Nice guy.”
”I don't know. According to my mom, he just wasn't cut out for the whole family gig, you know? He was an artist. Sort of the free-spirit, one-with-the-earth type. She was a registered voter and dental hygienist. An upstanding citizen.” Total opposites, I thought. Not like you and me. We already have more in common than the two of them ever did.
”Still,” Martin said. ”I just couldn't imagine taking off like that. As a father. Or a husband.”
I smiled. ”They never actually got married. But that's good to know about you.” Having witnessed the demise of her own parents' disastrous union, my mother insisted she would never venture down the aisle. I was not quite so averse to the idea.
”Is she still a hygienist? Your mom?”
”A dentist, actually. After Jess was born, she worked about sixty hours a week at a couple of different offices to keep us afloat, then went back to school to get her degree. She's had her own practice for over ten years now.”
”Do you get along?”
I picked up my fork, toying with the cold remains of my fettuccine. ”For the most part. But Jess and I spent a lot of time with babysitters when we were growing up. And she's so busy with her practice now I barely see her. I'm not sure how well I really know her.” It surprised me to feel the muscles in my throat tighten as I spoke that last sentence. I feigned a cough.
Martin didn't seem to notice the change in my voice. ”Babysitters, huh? She didn't have family around to help her out?”
I shook my head. ”Her parents divorced when she was twelve and her mom died not too long after that. She was pretty much on her own. It's what she knows how to do.”
He nodded. ”Sounds like my mom, too. Both my parents' families are back in Germany. I've never even met them.”
”How did she support you after your dad pa.s.sed away?” I paused, then added, ”If you don't mind me asking.”
”It's fine. She actually bought the bakery where she'd been working. My dad was a planner like that. He knew his job was risky, so he made sure to have good accidental death coverage.”
”You had babysitters, too, then, I take it? With her owning a business?”
”Sort of. I just went to the shop with her. A gaggle of German bakerwomen took care of me. Fed me bits of cake to keep me from crying.”
”Hmm ... a whole gaggle, huh?”
He lifted one shoulder up and forward a bit. ”What can I say? My mother ran the place. It was in their job description.”
”Of course it was. Does she still work?”
”Nope. Sold it a few months ago. She's retired now, and focused on finding me a wife.”
I attempted to appear nonplussed as the b.u.t.terflies in my stomach went nuts. ”Uh-huh. So, do you bake? That might work in your favor.”
”No, no baking.” One corner of his mouth bent upward. ”But I could calculate a couple logarithmic functions that would make your toes curl.”
”Ew. Math. Do you have any other annoying habits I should know about?” I winked at him and smiled.
He sat forward, crossed his forearms, and leaned on the table. ”Hmm ... let's see. I keep track of pretty much everything in my life on a spreadsheet. Does organization qualify as a bad habit?”
”Only if you expect the same kind of freakish compulsion from me.”
To my relief, he threw his head back and laughed.
For a first date, I thought, this is going extremely well.
I called my sister the minute I got home. ”I really, really like him,” I said. ”He's smart, he's funny, and I'm pretty sure he thinks I'm smart and funny, too. He took my smart-a.s.s commentary like a pro.”
”Did he kiss you?”
”Oh yeah.”
”And ...?”
”And everything south of the border pretty much melted.”
It didn't take long for Martin and me to begin spending almost every evening together. His linear brain served our lovemaking well. He possessed a scientist's determination to understand what pleasured me most.
”Hmm,” he'd murmur, running his fingertips up and down the curve of my waist to the generous swell of my hips. ”What happens when I do this?”
My eyes would close and I'd shudder as goose b.u.mps popped up across my skin.
He'd smile, then move his fingers a little lower. ”What about this?”