Chapter 30

ASHER

“Well,” he repeats, his gaze shifting from the past to me. “Your mom came into our lives in a rather unexpected way. Before Matthew, your dad and I were married to another woman, Rose,” he shares.

“We realized with Rose that we wanted a family. Kids…a marriage, a unit like the one we have with you guys. But the pregnancies with Rose never made it to term, and then Rose passed away. That led us to the idea of using a surrogate.

It wasn’t easy to find a surrogate through agencies back then, especially as gay men. So, we decided to find one privately—”

His voice trails off as he gets lost in a memory I can’t see. I watch him, his face unreadable, his body sinking into the chair.

His gaze is directed toward me, but not quite at me, as he continues his story. “We learned about your mom through a mutual friend who told us she was open to being a surrogate.”

He swallows again, and I can see the careful way he’s choosing his words. There are parts he’s leaving out, details he’s not sharing, and my curiosity is itching for every juicy tidbit.

But my heart warns me that I might not want to know everything my mom went through. That hearing such harsh truths might cast her in a different light that I don’t want to see.

She’s my mom, and I love her. I cherish her just the way she is, and sometimes a person’s past isn’t meant to be shared.

But I sit quietly, waiting, hoping my dad will reveal the things I need to know. And he does, in a way that’s uniquely his.

That’s why I respect him so much. “Your mom agreed to be a surrogate, yes. But it wasn’t just about giving us a child. She was stuck, son, in a bad situation with a bad man. But when she got pregnant, when your dad showed her how much she was worth, she rose like a phoenix from the ashes.

She went through hell, but she came out the other side as the most incredible person. So you see, son, it was love. Love, patience, kindness. We listened; we heard her.”

“Oh.” I nod. Have I truly listened to everything Maddison has told me?

“Now tell me, Asher. Who is it that you need to save?”

His question catches me off guard, and my eyes widen. That’s a question I can’t answer. Not yet. Not this soon. Not until I have the girls safe with me.

“A girl,” I half-lie. “She can’t see her situation; she needs to get out. To break free.” I sigh.

“You can’t help someone who doesn’t want to be helped, son.”

“I know, but maybe it’s a lie. Maybe she’s wearing a mask, maybe she doesn’t want to be there under his control, but she can’t see a way out… I—”

I stop myself, realizing I’ve already said too much. Even though Tyler isn’t usually the one I confide in, he gives me a sympathetic look and reaches out to pat my arm.

“Just be there for her, support her, and treat her with kindness; maybe then she’ll realize she’s worth more than she thinks.”

I nod, over and over, because his advice makes sense. Everything he’s said resonates with me.

I don’t stay much longer with my dad after that. We talk about ordinary things like work and paying my own way and how I’m adjusting to the real world.

He congratulates me on working with Daniel and expresses hope that we can mend our strained relationship. He thanks me for coming to dinner last Sunday. Apparently, it made my mom’s day.

It gave her a boost of happiness that has put a spring in her step all week. My dads have been concerned about my mom since she had the twins a few years ago.

She decided not to go back to work until they start school because she’s still primarily breastfeeding them, I guess. It’s nice to see her spending the same quality time with them that she did with us, and as an adult child, watching her mother in the same way gives me hope that her parenting style has rubbed off on us.

Thinking about my mom’s happier self fills me with a twinge of guilt. My mom has always been there for me—emotionally, physically, and financially.

I should make more of an effort to be there for her, just like she was for us when we were kids.

I skip my apartment and head straight to the restaurant, making a beeline for the table my dads have tucked away behind a wall of indoor plants.

Instead of my usual whisky, I order a coffee and settle in to wait for Atty, who shows up forty minutes later.

The restaurant’s noise level seems amplified, grating on my nerves. Even though I’m hidden from the other patrons’ view, I can see the entire restaurant.

My gaze drifts over the diners, their faces lit up with joy. Ever found yourself alone in a restaurant, observing the other patrons, wondering what they’re discussing or thinking about?

It’s one of my favorite ways to pass the time, and that’s exactly what I do, my gaze flitting from one person to another, studying each one.

Then, my eyes land on Fennick. He’s seated diagonally from me, and even though he shouldn’t be able to see me, it feels like he’s looking right at me.

I straighten up a bit, smooth down my top, and run my fingers through my hair. He doesn’t break his gaze, and I try to hold his stare until Atty shows up at our table, grinning, with a server trailing behind him, a tray of food in hand.

“Since it’s Friday, I thought we could eat and then hang out upstairs, maybe play a game of cards or something?” he suggests cheerfully.

I rise to greet him, thank the server, and then sit back down. My gaze drifts back to Fennick’s table, only to find it empty. The beer glass is gone, and the chairs are pushed in, as if the table had been vacant just moments ago.

Did I just imagine that? Have the drugs messed with my perception?