Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 79800 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79800 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
“This smells great, Eden. Thank you,” Foster says, placing a plate in front of me and one next to me for himself. “What do you want to drink?”
“Oh, uh, water is fine.”
He grabs two bottles of water from the fridge and takes his seat. He wastes no time, cutting into his piece of meatloaf and forking up a bite. “Damn,” he mutters, placing his hand over his mouth as he chews. “If I had known that everything you cook was this good, I’d be begging for you to cook for me every night.” He winks.
If he only knew what that wink of his does to me. It turns my belly into knots and has my heart fluttering, as if it has wings inside my chest.
“I cooked a lot growing up. That was one of my chores at most of my foster families. They found out I could cook, and I had to earn my keep. Never mind that they got money monthly for housing me. By the time I made it to the Harpers, it was kind of my thing, and we all cooked together.”
“Do you still talk to them? The Harpers?” he asks.
“Occasionally. I send them birthday and Christmas cards, and they do the same for me. They weren’t affectionate people, and I craved affection. I thought if I cooked for them, that would earn me a hug or a smile, but both were few and far between. I think that’s why I was always waiting for the other shoe to drop. I was safe, warm, and fed, but I still missed the closeness.” I shrug.
“Yeah, affection isn’t something that’s handed out. Not the good kind of affection. I can still remember the first time Mrs. Pruitt, Hope, hugged me. It was the day I moved in with them, and I stood there frozen, not sure what to do.”
“It’s hard to trust good intentions when all you’ve ever been on the receiving end of are bad ones,” I agree. It’s comforting and overwhelming all at the same time—how similar we are, from our backgrounds to how we see life. Really, it’s only our careers that separate us, which sounds weird, since that’s exactly what brought us together.
He nods. “By the time I went off to college, I was accustomed to her hugs. She gave them freely, like I imagine a mother would.”
“Do they have kids? Mr. and Mrs. Pruitt?” I ask.
“No. They were never able to have children of their own. I don’t know why they didn’t adopt or foster a smaller child, or a baby even. Instead, they took me.”
I think about what he said while I swallow my bite of meatloaf. “Maybe they were waiting for you. I can only assume that the situation and the child needed to feel right. Fit their family, and you were their choice, Foster.”
His brows furrow slightly, as if he’s deep in thought. “I guess I never thought about it like that.”
“It took me a while to turn my thinking around, too. The Harpers were new foster parents. I was their first and their last. They, too, were unable to have children of their own. They might not have passed out hugs freely, but they did choose me.”
“Do you ever wish you had reached out more?” he asks.
“Sometimes. More here recently. What about you?”
“Yeah, but then I tell myself too much time has passed, and I talk myself out of it.”
“It’s never too late, Foster. They’re a part of your life, and from what you’ve told me, they would be an even bigger part if you would let them. They chose you. It wasn’t pity or to make them feel better about themselves. You were who they wanted.”
He’s quiet as he finishes off the rest of his dinner. Foster likes to process things, and it’s obvious he overthinks them, at least when it comes to anything connected to his past.
“Violet.”
That’s it. One name, and he clamps his mouth shut.
“Who’s Violet?” I ask, keeping my voice soft.
“We met in college. She was there the day I got drafted. We’d talked about the future, and where it was going, and what my being drafted meant. I asked her to marry me that day, and she said no. She wanted to go to medical school, which I knew, but she didn’t want to do long distance, and she didn’t want to be in the limelight that this career came with.”
“I’m sorry. That must have hurt.”
“Old rejections and insecurities. I didn’t fight for her. I was angry that she changed the plan, and I just… let her walk away. She left my house that night, and I never saw her again after that.”
I can hear the pain in his voice. If I could take it for him, I would. “Where is she now?”
“She’s a doctor.” He smiles sadly. “The last I heard, she was dating another doctor. I stopped checking up on her after that. I lost my chance to be in her life, to care about her, when I didn’t fight for us.”