“What did you tell him?”
“That if he wanted to know how you were doing, he should’ve cared more about that when he had you.”
I stopped.
“Mama.”
“What?”
Despite myself, a laugh slipped out.
“You really said that?”
“I did.”
“Oh my God.”
“He asked me a question. I answered.”
“That was not an answer.”
“It was mine.”
I shook my head, but some of the tightness in my chest eased.
“What else did you say?”
“That you’re doing well.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
I waited.
Something in her pause caught my attention.
“Mama.”
“What?”
“What else did he ask?”
She sighed.
I closed my eyes.
“Mama.”
“He asked if you were seeing anybody.”
My eyes opened.
For some reason, that landed differently.
“What did you tell him?”
“Nothing.”