Hopeless

smile at him reassuringly and point to his drink. “You can drink now,” I say. “Your turn to ask me a question.”
    “Oh, this one’s easy,” he says. “I want to know whose toes I’m stepping on. I received a mysterious inbox message from someone today. All it said was, ‘If you’re dating my girl, get your own prepaid minutes and quit wasting mine, Jackass. ’ ”
    I laugh. “That would be Six. The bearer of my daily doses of positive affirmation.”
    He nods. “I was hoping you’d say that.” He leans forward and narrows his eyes at me. “Because I’m pretty competitive, and if it came from a guy, my response would not have been as nice.”
    “You responded? What’d you say?”
    “Is that your question? Because if it isn’t, I’m taking another bite.”
    “Hold your horses and answer the question,” I say.
    “Yes, I responded to her text. I said, ‘How do I buy more minutes?’”
    My heart is a big puddle of mush right now, and I’m trying not to grin. It’s really pathetic and sad. I shake my head. “I was only joking, that wasn’t my question. It’s still my turn.”
    He puts his fork back down and rolls his eyes. “My food’s getting cold.”
    I place my elbows on the table and fold my hands under my chin. “I want to know about your sister. And why you referred to her in the past tense.”
    He tilts his head back and looks up, rubbing his hands down his face. “Ugh. You really ask the deep questions, huh?”
    “That’s how the game is played. I didn’t make up the rules.”
    He sighs again and smiles at me, but there’s a hint of sadness in his smile and it instantly makes me wish I could take the question back.
    “Remember when I told you my family had a pretty fucked up year last year?”
    I nod.
    He clears his throat and begins tracing the rim of his plate again. “She died thirteen months ago. She killed herself, even though my mother would rather we use the term, ‘purposefully overdosed.’”
    He never stops looking at me when he speaks, so I show him the same respect, even though it’s really difficult to look him in the eyes right now. I have no idea how to respond to that, but it’s my own fault for bringing it up.
    “What was her name?”
    “Lesslie. I called her Les.”
    Hearing his nickname for her stirs up sadness within me and I suddenly don’t feel like eating anymore. “Was she older than you?”
    He leans forward and picks up his fork, then twirls it in his bowl. He brings the forkful of pasta to his mouth. “We were twins,” he says flatly, right before taking the bite.
    Jesus. I reach for my drink, but he takes it out of my hands and shakes his head. “My turn,” he says with a mouthful. He finishes chewing and takes a sip, then wipes his mouth with a napkin. “I want to know the story about your dad.”
    I’m the one groaning this time. I fold my arms on the table in front of me and accept my payback. “Like I said, I haven’t seen him since I was three. I don’t have any memories of him. At least, I don’t think I do. I don’t even know what he looks like.”
    “Your mom doesn’t have any pictures of him?”
    It dawns on me when he asks this question that he doesn’t even know I’m adopted. “You remember when you said my mom looked really young? Well, it’s because she is. She adopted me.”
    Being adopted isn’t really a stigma I’ve ever had to overcome. I’ve never been embarrassed by it, ashamed of it, or felt the need to hide the fact. But the way Holder is looking at me right now, you would think I just told him I was born with a penis. He’s staring at me uncomfortably and it makes me fidget. “ What? You’ve never met anyone who was adopted?”
    It takes him a few more seconds to recover, but he puts away his puzzled expression and locks it up, replacing it with a smile. “You were adopted when you were three? By Karen?”
    I shake my head. “I was five. I was put into foster care when I was three, after my biological mother died. My dad couldn’t raise me on his own. Or he didn’t want to raise me on his own. Either way, I’m fine with it. I lucked out with Karen and I have no urge whatsoever to go figure it all out. If he wanted to know where I was, he’d come find me.”
    I can tell he’s not finished with the questions by the look in his eyes, but I really want to take a bite and get the ball back in my court.
    I point to his arm with my fork. “What does your tattoo mean?”
    He holds his arm