Alana looks away from me and takes a sip of the lemonade, reluctant to talk. I remember her words.The challenge is what makes it worthwhile.
“My father left when I was three, my mother is an alcoholic, and my brother is a drug addict,” I spew. She whips her head toward me. I’m usually not so forward, but I want her to know everything about me, and I want to know everything about her. “That’s why I’m good. This face already has a bad façade.”
“I don’t understand what that means.”
“My brother, he’s my twin.”
“You have a twin?”
“Yup.” I take a big swig. “And he’s as messed up as it gets.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Me too.” I sigh. “So, why did you have to grow up fast?”
Alana bites her lip. “My mother died when I was ten. She was sort of the nucleus of the family. My father, he expects things from me, and if I want to survive in my house, I have to deliver.”
“That sounds stressful.”
She shrugs again. “Only if I do something out of line.”
I don’t like the way she says that one bit. “Does he hit you or something?”
“No,” she snaps. “And that’s an incredibly personal question to ask.”
“I thought that’s what we were doing. Getting personal.”
She huffs. “How about we start with the small stuff and work up to personal?”
I get the impression it’s going to take a while to work up to personal with Alana. “All right then, what small stuff do you want to know?” I smile.
“I’m not sure. What’s your last name?”
“Pierce. What’s yours?”
“Remington.”
“That sounds very dignified.”
“Only if you’re my father,” she sneers.
I want to ask her what she means by that, but I’m going to keep the conversation light. Like she wants. “What’s your favorite food?”
“Be more specific. There are different categories of food.”
“Categories? Okay, favorite junk food?”
“Chocolate covered pecan clusters. Yours?”
“That’s a new one. Kit Kat. My junk food pallet isn’t so refined.”
She giggles lightly. “It’s not refined, it’s picky.”
“Whatever.” I smile. “Favorite dinner food?”
“Shrimp scampi over linguini.”
“You like seafood?”