The coffeehouse is indeed very comfortable, and the dark wood and mismatched furniture make me feel as though I’m in someone’s living room. Acoustic music floats above us, but otherwise it’s a fairly quiet spot. There is only one other customer, an older man, sitting in an armchair across the room. He’s not reading or doing anything. Just sitting there. I am immediately struck by how lonely he seems, but I brush that off, because I know nothing about this man. I have no right to assume anything about him, just as no one has a right to assume anything about me. I probably look like a normal human.
Esben and I are seated on a couch. He has his body turned my way, looking open and relaxed. I, of course, am sitting stiffly, facing forward and clutching my steaming mug.
“You like your drink okay?” he asks.
I’m about to give myself third-degree burns, and then the emergency room deal might become a reality. I take a quick sip and set the mug on the glass table in front of us. “I do.”
“You said you’re from Massachusetts. That you’d lived all over. But you have a family there now?”
“Sort of. I mean, yes. Simon. He adopted me when I was a junior in high school. He has a house in Brookline.”
“I love Brookline. Coolidge Corner is awesome. Such a fun area to walk around.”
“You’re from Massachusetts, too?” While I’ve explored some of Esben’s online presence, I have presumably barely tapped the surface, and I still don’t know basics about him.
“Framingham. Not as exciting as Brookline, and it was a drag to drive into Boston when I was a teenager, but it’s all right.” He sets down his drink and focuses on me. “So, you’ve got a single dad? And you like him?”
“I do like him. A lot. I don’t think I’m . . .” I can’t figure out how to say this or if I should. But I want to; I know that. I want to connect. Where’s a motivational button when I need it, huh? So, I breathe, and I speak. “It doesn’t make sense that Simon wanted to adopt me. I wasn’t warm or . . . the typical teen girl. I didn’t throw myself at the idea of adoption. I wasn’t anything a potential parent should want. But he still went ahead. I don’t get it. And Simon had a boyfriend when I first met him. Jacob.”
I shift in my seat so that I’m facing him and hopefully looking less frigid and weird. I check to see if Esben has any iota of a negative reaction to the news that my adoptive father is gay, but he’s simply waiting for me to continue. “They’d been together for four years, and once it became clear that Simon wanted me, that he really wanted to adopt me, his boyfriend bolted. I haven’t asked Simon much about it, because it’s got to be a sore subject.”
Esben makes a face. “Kind of says volumes about that ex, huh?”
“Maybe. Simon wanted me . . .” I survey the room and take a second. “And he lost his boyfriend. Kind of proof positive that there’s always a trade-off. You let one person in; the other goes out.”
“I don’t think that’s true at all,” Esben says. “I’ve got two parents who are pretty awesome. And my sister, Kerry, who you met. She and I are really tight. Plus, I’ve got close friends. Jason and Danny are my best friends here, but I’m still in touch with people from high school. There doesn’t have to be a trade-off.”
“Maybe not for you.”
“Look, I imagine that spending most of your life in foster care didn’t exactly instill the belief that the world is all magical and full of glittery unicorns and fluffy bunnies and such. How could it?” Esben looks down and brushes something imaginary off his jeans. “Did you live with a lot of different families or only a few?”
I fall in love with the fact that his question is not filled with pity.
“Yes,” I say. “Too many.”
I tell him about changing schools and families and rooms and . . . everything. About how there were never constants. Ever. About the cycle of hope and the rejection that became routine until I was left with only rejection. I tell him everything, because once I start talking, I cannot stop. This purge, this truth, is a flood that I cannot stop. I have never told anyone besides Steffi these details, and they have been secrets that jailed me.
Esben listens attentively and allows me to tell him way more than he probably expected. I want him to know these facts about me and my life because if he’s going to bolt, I want him to do it now. I have a responsibility to make him aware of how fouled up my past is. It doesn’t take a genius to see how that would screw someone up. He should have an out if he wants it.
“So, Steffi was your one bright spot,” he points out.
“My savior,” I say definitively. “Yes.”
“I’m glad you had her. She probably made up for a lot.”
“What’s funny is that I didn’t much like her when I first met her. She was tough and glamorous and feisty. She still is, but at the time . . . well, I kind of thought she was a snot,” I say, laughing.
“So how did you become so close?”
“Oh. Well . . .” I reach for my coffee and take a drink. “Compared to other foster kids, I didn’t have it so bad. I lived with plenty of nice people. Just no one who wanted me permanently. A few not-so-great people, but, overall, no one really crazy or mean.” Despite a second of hesitation on my part, I notice how easy it is to continue with this story. “But the family who’d taken in Steffi and me had also taken in two boys, both of whom were a few years older than us. One day after school, I came home. I shared a room with Steffi . . .” I pause. God, I haven’t thought about this in ages.
“You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to,” Esben says quietly.
“I do want to.” I know this as much as I know that I need to breathe. “I found her in our room with one of the guys, but I knew right away that I hadn’t just walked in on them fooling around. He had her pinned to the bed, and her expression was . . . all wrong. Scared, paralyzed . . .”
Esben visibly tenses and is clearly very shaken by my words. “Jesus, Allison . . .”
I make my speech confident, reassuring. “It’s okay. Really. Because when I saw the way her shirt was torn off her shoulder, when I understood that his weight was crushing her, I moved. Fast. It took me about two seconds to rip this guy off of her.” I almost laugh. “Who knew I was so strong? But I slammed him into the dresser so hard that its mirror shattered. Then I punched him and gave him a massive black eye. The look on his face was priceless.” Now, I’m actually grinning at the memory. “I still know exactly what I said to him. I won’t repeat it, but there were a lot of threats of severe bodily harm to parts he did not want injured. Then I called up her caseworker and mine and screamed at both until my voice was raw. The guy was removed from the house about an hour later.” I tuck my knees up and rest my head against the back of the sofa. “And that was that.”