Page 19 of Forced Proximity

Jack gives me a firm nod. ‘Agreed.’

As Jack pulls away, I swallow back a boulder – I really need to smooth things out between Justin and me. But God, apologizing is the worst. Admitting I’m wrong makes me seem weak – the thing I despise most. I move through the house, grab a water bottle and slide open the patio door.

At the patio table, Justin doesn’t even look up from where he’s reading a script.

Ugh. Here we go. ‘Hey there.’

‘Doc.’ He still doesn’t look up.

Just do it. Katey always told me I have, and I quote, ‘horseshit’ apologies. The more we fought towards the end of our marriage, the more I refused to give Katey the satisfaction of hearing ‘sorry’. I’m gonna blame my dad for this one. He always wanted to toughen me up and would tell me things like, ‘Stop saying you’re sorry. Ya don’t hear your brothers doing that, do ya?’

But, perhaps, I had overcorrected.

I squint against the blazing sun and take a breath. ‘It wasn’t cool how I spoke to you last time I was here. I was unprofessional and honestly not very kind. The issues I have – they’re my issues. And even though it probably doesn’t seem like it, this really doesn’t have anything to do with you.’ Gross. That almost physically hurt.

Justin lowers his script and studies me. ‘I know on the outside it looks like I had everything growing up. I can see how you got that impression. But I didn’t. Trust me.’

I breathe through my coiled stomach. ‘It’s just so different than how I grew up. But again, my issue is with society in general, and it’s unfair to project that on to you.’

He sets his script on the table and motions for me to sit. ‘Tell me about how you grew up.’

‘How much time do we have?’ I say with a tentative grin. Honestly, I have zero desire to talk about my clothes being from Goodwill or the only reason we opened store-bought Christmas presents was because my parents choked down their pride and allowed a family from the church to ‘adopt’ us for the holiday season.

‘I sense a slight accent,’ he says, sliding his face under the umbrella shade. ‘Midwest?’

My gaze flickers as I take a seat. ‘Wow, you have a good ear. Minnesota, actually.’

‘I only heard it when you said “shoes” last week – the O’s were long,’ he says and grins at my skeptical look. ‘I work with dialect coaches for different accents depending on what role I’m playing.’

‘Ah, got it.’ I scoot the lounge chair further under the umbrella. ‘So, yeah, I was raised in Black Bear, Minnesota. Population roughly five hundred.’

‘Five hundred … thousand?’

‘Nope, five hundred.’ I grin. ‘And on a farm. Well, more like a hobby family farm. We sold eggs from our chickens, but basically, the rest of the food was for us.’ I rub my ring finger with my thumb. ‘My parents, uh, we didn’t have a lot of money growing up.’

A long moment passes. I really, really hope he doesn’t ask what it was like to grow up food and heat insecure. It’s the most awkward question of all time, and often the other person wants some feel-good story about how it taught resiliency.

‘Chickens?’ he finally says. ‘I’ve always thought it would be kind of cool to have chickens running around. But I probably wouldn’t want the work.’

I release my breath and grin. ‘Definitely a lot of work.’

‘Any siblings?’

‘Four brothers, no sisters.’ Growing up, I was the only girl I knew who was glad I didn’t have any sisters. Wrestling was a solid Morgan family pastime, and I have a sneaking suspicion my dad would’ve laid into me for being too rough on a sister.

Justin taps the underneath of his chair. ‘Four brothers, huh? Did you guys get along?’

Memories flash of stuffing fresh snow into cups and drizzling it with sugar and food coloring for snow cones or playing intense games of ‘alley-alley-over’ by throwing a tennis ball over our roof. ‘Yeah, we got along for the most part.’

My brothers are kind, but we’re not particularly close. And even though they’ll deny it, a level of resentment existed toward me because we had a three-bedroom home, and since I was the only girl, my father insisted I get my own room.

‘We skated when the lakes froze over, had family game nights, things like that,’ I say as my shoulders warm in the sunlight. ‘But there was a pretty big age difference. My oldest brother is fourteen years older than me, and I’m seven years younger than the youngest.’

‘Damn. That’s definitely an age difference. Were you a surprise?’ He props his elbows on the table. ‘Or did your parents want another one after a break?’

‘I was adopted.’

‘Really? Wow.’ He leans back on his chair and tilts his head. ‘Does that affect you?’