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"So, now you're doing these fundraisers? Are they for your mom or brother in some way?"
"No. Today's charity was for the animal shelter. I'm sad it was a flop. They rely on it each year." Enough about my sad life. "How about you? Where'd you grow up?"
"In the New York foster care system."
"Foster?"
"Yep. I'mthe foster kid. The name stuck." He shrugs in an unassuming way, but it has to cut him deep that his identity is based on being a foster child.
"Can I ask about your parents?"
He's quiet for a minute and makes a point of taking a huge gulp of wine. "My mom was an alcoholic. Spent my life waiting for her to sober up."
"She never did?"
"No." He says it matter of factly, but the truth is he's shared something very personal with me.
My heart aches for him. I can't imagine how painful that would be to always be hoping to be adopted or have your mom back and neither ever comes true.
"You don't have any family?" My family isn't perfect, and we've been through a lot together, but at least I have a place I belong.
He holds up one finger and sways it back and forth. The wine is loosening him up. Me too.
"Let me tell you about a man named Henry Twist. You gotta hear this. I'm seventeen, walking down the street like a wet rat, this guy stops his car, picks me up, takes me in, and fights like hell to adopt me. At seventeen! He could have waited one year and I'd age out. But he did that for me. He knew I needed it."
"Wow. So he's your dad now?"
He laughs. "Yeah. My dad is the Malibu Elvis."
He must be drunk now because he's not talking sense. "What?"
"Back in the seventies, Henry was a surfing pioneer out in California. He did these tricks on the board. Karate moves with some hip action. Earned the rep of Malibu Elvis. The way he tells it, surfing changed after the Gidget movie and he rebelled against it. He stayed true to the spirit of surfing, not the competition and crowded beaches of the eighties. People admired him. He became a living legend."
Wow. That was the most I've heard him speak since I met him. "So you got adopted by a famous surfer?"
"Yeah, but he never played into it. He lived a normal life, made some money selling surfboards with his logo on it, but he never sold out to the press. He's more of a private person."
I can tell by the tone of his voice he loves and admires Henry.
"He sounds interesting. I'm glad you have him." He needs someone in his corner.
He nods and stays quiet for a long time, most likely thinking back on his life with Henry.
"I was surprised to see you here tonight." My breathy voice breaks the silence.
He takes another swig from his bottle. "Was looking to have a word with your brother Donnie."
"Oh." Silly me started getting ideas he was here to see me. Of course it's about Donnie. "About what?"
He looks down at me. "Why he left you alone with Rocco."
Oh no. He's still angry about what happened after the fight at the abandoned fire station. "He's my brother. Please don't hurt him."
"Didn't say I was gonna hurt him. Just wanted a word."
"Uh-huh." I haven't seen Foster do much talking, but I've seen him get his message across with his fists. As mad as I am about what Donnie and Rocco did, I don't want Foster to beat them up. He could really hurt them. That wouldn't be good.
A comfortable silence grows between us as we consume large volumes of wine. I'm feeling much better now. My head is light. I've squashed down my grief and forgotten about my wet bathing suit and the failed party.
