He wondered what their home looked like to Sullivan—the bright, sequined drapo hanging in the corner, Manman’s spare rosary beads dangling over the edge of the handwoven basket on the counter, the black-and-white photograph of Vodouists dancing in a service to the loa on the wall. Would he think of black magic and ignorant peasants, like so many friends and neighbors had over the years?
No, Sullivan studied these parts of Tobias’s life with the same open, honest interest that he aimed at any number of unfamiliar things. There was curiosity in the intelligent planes of his face, but also empathy and warmth. He would ask questions, and better still, he would learn.
Tobias took Sullivan’s good hand in his, and Sullivan gave him a tiny smile. His parents both cast quick glances at their interlaced fingers, but neither said anything. He’d never held hands with a man in front of them; his homosexuality had been a theoretical thing to them until this point, but Sullivan was in his life for good, or at least Tobias wanted him to be, and everyone would simply need to adjust. He had no intention of hiding what he felt. He’d risked too much by hiding such things in the past.
When Sullivan’s arm had been bandaged and the mess cleared away, Tobias found him a clean shirt to wear from his bedroom. Then they all sat in an awkward square for a moment, no one quite sure where to begin.
Finally, Papa said, “An explanation is in order, I think.”
Somehow, they managed a non-panic-inducing version of the story. Tobias didn’t outright lie at any point, but he did downplay the risks involved at times. He felt no need for his parents to know that Spratt had come back to his house during the home invasion they’d committed. He disliked having to monitor his words so carefully, but his parents’ questions were cautiously phrased in return, and it struck him that they were trying hard to meet him halfway. They were frustrated, yes, and worried, but determined to do as Manman had claimed they would do in her voicemail—listen.
Once they’d wrapped up the stitching and the explanation, Sullivan checked his phone. “Lisbeth says Ghost is going with Walter.”
Tobias sank back in his chair. “Oh. They’re—”
“They’re leaving now. I guess whatever you said to him worked.” He nudged Tobias’s knee with his own. “It’s good news.”
“It is,” Tobias agreed. And he did feel a massive sense of relief. He’d just wanted more time before Ghost disappeared again, that was all.
“Your friend is all right, though?” Manman asked.
“Sounds like.” Tobias took a breath and refocused. Her velvet-brown eyes were tired behind her glasses. Since they had no reason to rush, perhaps it was a good time to clear the air. “About what happened before, with the letter...”
Both of his parents glanced at Sullivan instantly, warily. Tobias had anticipated this; personal subjects weren’t often shared with friends or acquaintances. “We can discuss that later,” Manman began, smiling at Sullivan, but Tobias cleared his throat.
“No, Manman. He’s family to me. He knows everything anyway. And I think this will be easier with him here. I’d really prefer talking about this with him here.”
His parents exchanged a look, but Manman finally nodded.
Tobias took a deep breath and reminded himself that a strong relationship moving forward was as much on him as it was on them. “I was hurt that you didn’t share the letter with me. And angry. I don’t blame you for not telling me the truth when I was a child about how my birth mother abandoned me. Tante Esther’s version was hard to hear, but I understand why you lied.”
He hesitated, then asked a question that’d haunted him ever since he’d found out. “You told me once that you let me keep Ashley Benton’s name as a reminder of the woman who’d loved me so much but had been forced to give me up. If that’s not true, why didn’t you give me your name? Didn’t you want me to—”
“It’s not because you weren’t mine,” Manman said fiercely, reaching across the table to take his hand hard in hers. Her fingers were cold and strong. “You were always mine. From the first time I held you. You’d been in an incubator because you were so sick, with tubes everywhere, and you had a bulky cast on your leg, and for a long time, no one could hold you. But the second I did, I knew. You were such a silent baby, Tobias, did I ever tell you? You’d lie so still in my arms, even after you were healthy, like you were afraid I’d put you down if you made a peep. All I could think was that you’d spent a whole night in that Dumpster in pain, crying for help, and no one came, not for hours, and it made my heart bleed. You were so vulnerable, so frighteningly vulnerable, and I promised myself I would never let that woman hurt you again. That kind of promise doesn’t end when your children are adults.”
Tobias jolted at the sight of her tears; Manman did not cry easily. He squeezed her hand, reassured despite the upsetting elements of the story.
She swiped at her face with a napkin Papa gave her and cleared her throat. “We spoke to Tante Esther last week. She left some things out of the version she told you. She didn’t know that your birth mother didn’t sign away her rights to you immediately. Ashley Benton.” She spat the name, her disgust palpable. “She was in jail for what she’d done to you when I went to see her. I brought her the pictures of you in the hospital and explained that I’d taken care of you and that I loved you and that I would continue to love you and take care of you until my last breath if she would
