“No. She and my dad were dating, and my mom used to say they were in love. But my grandparents were upset about her being pregnant and kicked her out.”
“That doesn’t make any sense.”
“It doesn’t, but they did. She went against their morals. Anyway,” I said before he could ask anything else, “she and my father lived with his parents until they graduated high school, then they got jobs. It was rough. Two years after I was born, my father was killed in a car accident while driving home from work.
“His parents blamed my mom and me. If she hadn't kept me, my father would’ve been at school and he wouldn’t have died. So it was me and my mom until I was seven. She died.”
His arms tightened around me. “I’m sorry.”
I shrugged. “It was no one’s fault. She got sick, and she died,” I replied, not trying to think about it. Her skeletal frame in the hospital bed, covered in tubes while machines beeped. The antiseptic smell that clung to her skin. The never-ending muttering of voices. The pats from strangers.
“I went into foster care for a few months until my mom’s parents got custody of me. They were not kind. Their whole mission in life was to make sure I didn’t turn out like my mom. Something they told me frequently.
“I had anxiety as a child, which my mom made sure I got help for. When she died, it got worse, and my grandparents didn’t believe in mental health problems. My grandfather would tell me men didn’t have mental health problems unless they were weak.”
Kal placed a kiss on my neck.
“When I had panic attacks, they would yell at me.”
“Which is why you told me not to do it.”
“It was not ideal. They hit me a lot, trying to fix me.”
He tensed behind me. “They hurt you? Your caretakershurtyou?”
“Yeah,” I said, trying not to think about it. “My first girlfriend used to trigger my panic attacks on purpose and laugh when I had one. We didn’t last long, but it made an impression on me. I never realized someone could use my triggers against me before. A little bit before my eighteenth birthday, my friend Vince asked to kiss me. He was gay and wanted to see what it was like. I agreed and realized I liked guys as well as girls.”
“Did you court him?” Kal didn’t sound jealous, more curious than anything.
“No. But my grandparents walked in. They got upset.”
“Why?”
“Some people on my planet think only men and women should be together. My grandparents were one of them.”
“That’s…” he trailed off. “I don’t want to offend you and say stupid, but it’s—”
I interrupted, “It’s stupid.”
“It is.”
“Long story short, they gave me a choice on my birthday. Adhere to their beliefs or get out. I left. It was no loss. I lived with Vince’s family until I graduated. In my early twenties, I started going out with another woman, Analise. She was probably my one healthy relationship. She broke up with me because I wouldn’t communicate, and I would just go along with whatever she wanted. I dated a few other people. None were serious. After a while, I started dating a man named Travis.”
I paused as tension froze my muscles. Even thinking about him was enough to trigger my anxiety. Kal held me tight, quietly waiting. I watched the TV. The happy smiles and easy music of the familiar show soothed me.
“He controlled everything I did, from where I worked to what I wore. He systematically isolated me from the few friends I had. When I made him mad, he would hit me, and I took it. I felt like it was what I deserved. I didn’t.”
He growled. “No one does. You did not deserve it, my Seth.”
“Thanks,” I whispered, his words sending prickles to my eyes. “Close to our second anniversary, he decided we needed to move. I paid for it all. When we got there, he abandoned me. He’d been dating someone else and used me.
“Honestly,” I said, “Travis dumping me was the best thing to happen to me. But Vince didn’t want to restart our friendship. I’d hurt him too badly. I didn’t keep trying either. I let him go.Right then and there, I made the decision not to date. I adopted Lucy, and three years later, here we are.”
When I finished, Kal said, “I took you without so much as a by your leave.”
I chuckled at his old phrasing. “I forgive you.”
“Thank you for that and for sharing your past with me.”
