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Her spell leads for an interesting night.
All green and fully mesmerizing, though not as much as her smile. "Hey Dimples. What'cha doing?"
I didn't move, still stuck in my admiration for her. "Selfishly consuming your magnificence. How are you feeling?"
"Ugh. Not magnificent, I can tell you that. Man, I haven't had a hangover like this since my twenty-second birthday. Did I ever tell you about that?" I shook my head and she set the cup down as carefully as she could. "Tess and Shane had broken up and were the poutiest fucking kids about it, so I invited him without telling her. Poof! Back together. But it took two bottles of bourbon and a buttload of champagne to get the job done."
I finally walked to her and took a seat on the ground, resting my head back against her belly when she wrapped her legs around my torso. "Such a matchmaker my little one is."
"Like mother like daughter, I guess." Arms rested on my shoulders before setting her chin atop my head, but not without a kiss first. "Did you have a good time?"
"I did, though perhaps not as much as you. I thoroughly enjoyed your sleep talking however." I watched her confused, upside-down reaction. "Oh yes, my sleeping beauty is quite the chatterbox when in slumber."
"Uh oh. I don't start rattling off trade secrets, do I?"
"Not yet, though I'm still holding out for the secret coffee recipe." I crossed fingers on both hands much to her delight. "Most of the time you're speaking nonsense. 'Where is the pineapple, the pie will be late?" and 'Squirrel! The moose got out!' are two of my personal favorites. Though some nights - such as last night - you mutter again and again about a girl named Joyce. I haven't yet determined if she's imaginary or an actual friend of yours."
"...uh, neither. She's my birth mom." I whipped around and my wife looked shell-shocked. "That...is really weird."
"Oh. My apologies, perhaps I shouldn't have said anything -- "
"No no, it's fine," she interrupted, "I usually remember my dreams but I don't ever recall dreaming about her."
I hoisted myself off the ground and had a seat next to her, gingerly taking her hand in mine. "Do you remember much about her?"
She shrugged both shoulders and interlocked my fingers with hers. "Not really. I mean, I wasn't even four when she died from a speedball overdose. I sort of remember a lot of men coming in and out of our apartment but nothing graphic. Once I overheard Mom saying the social worker told her that she used to go on these long benders, disappearing for weeks at a time and the old woman who lived above us would watch me. I never told them there were a few times when she'd come back and she would do normal little kid things with me, like going to the playground or reading me bedtime stories. And man, she had the greatest laugh, right from the belly. But then the cycle would start all over and the last time she didn't come home again. I got lucky though, I was only in foster care a few days before my parents took me in."
"I'm sure she loved you the best she could under the circumstances." She shrugged it off again but had her face turned away from me, focusing on the stilled lake adjacent to our homes. "What of your father?"
"Oh, now that's a fun story. I tracked him down when I turned eighteen and my file was unsealed. He lives in this upscale neighborhood in New Jersey: head of the city council, has the wife and three kids, the whole nine yards. Got on a bus a few days after my birthday and rode 5 hours to see him, even bought him an early Christmas present: a gold pocket watch I spent three paychecks on because it looked fancy and I wanted to impress him.
I knocked on his door and when he answered I swear he knew who I was before I told him.