“No, I didn’t ask. I’d rather find out from you. I mean, if you don’t mind talking about it.”

She leans back, scrutinizing me with her soft blue eyes and debating it. Maybe I shouldn’t have brought it up. I don’t want anything to ruin this date.

“It feels important.” I lean forward, locking in her stare. “I want to know you. Better than I know myself. Your loves. Your hurts. All of it. I want to be the one who truly knows you. More than anything. Starting with The Sound of Music.”

Her apprehension melts under my gaze. “Fine, if you promise to tell me about the piano.”

I hide an internal cringe but nod. “Fair enough.”

“The Sound of Music was the first school activity I ever tried to do,” she says with a weak smile. “It was just me and my mom. We moved frequently, always searching for Mom’s version of the perfect place to call home. Seagrove came closest. We were here a year, longer than we’d ever stayed anywhere. She’s a hairstylist and had a great job at Mel’s—they were good friends. Still are, I think.”

She moves her rook—a bad choice. But I say nothing, fixing my eyes on her as she tells her story.

“I’d just gotten the job at Sunny’s. I remember Cora saying, ‘Welcome to the family,’ when she hired me.” Her smile returns, but only for a moment. “Things were the best they’d ever been.”

She sits up, twiddling her fingers as she tries to talk, nerves growing as her memories pain her.

“Mom taught me games. That’s what we’d do when money was short—it was always short. She taught me to read and do math through games. She was a good mom. I loved her. But she struggled.”

“With what?” I make a quick, throwaway move.

“Bipolar disorder. She called it upsies and downsies. I didn’t understand it growing up. She’d bounce off the walls one minute, excited to take me on some wonderful adventure. Then, she’d crash. Spend days, weeks, in bed. It was… day to day, I never knew what mom I’d get.”

“Fuck, that must’ve been hard. How did you handle that?”

She shrugs lightly. “I made the best of it.”

“How? You were just a kid.”

“Kids adapt, don’t they? I adapted to whatever she was and learned to care for myself. It wasn’t that bad. I had freedoms most kids didn’t. She taught me to be creative and independent. When she was up, she was so fun.”

“But when she was down?”

She lets out a resigned sigh and refocuses on the game like she’d rather forget the rest and certainly doesn’t want to discuss it. Her brow scrunches in contemplation, but she’s lost the game already and can’t figure out what to do.