Chapter 11

"Yes and no," John replied without thinking, but his face grew serious. "I didn't have much before, to be honest. I had some friends, I had some interesting classes at the university. But you couldn't say that there was anything in particular I had to leave behind."

Jean couldn't help but see a glimmer of sadness in his eyes as he said that.

"You say this, but something in your face tells a different story," she said, looking at him intently.

"You're quite sharp-eyed, Miss Stalker," John said, smiling. Then he sighed and continued, "It's my mom... I miss her a lot."

He stopped and joined his hands together, looking at the cup of coffee in front of him.

"We were very close, and I loved her more than anything. She raised me as a single mom. Even in my earliest memories as a kid, it was just the two of us. And she worked really hard. Until one day, a few months ago, when she was no longer able to..."

Jean's face fell as her mind connected the dots.

"Was your debt from your mom's medical bills?" she asked, her voice softening.

John nodded, then looked at her again.

"It didn't matter how much I would have to pay, I would have done it. But once she entered the hospital, she got worse. She suffered but she was peaceful. I was there, in the hospital room, with her, when she..." John stopped, his voice breaking. He took a deep breath, trying to hold back the tears.

"What am I even saying," he continued. "You're probably in the same boat, aren't you? I mean, you probably had parents too, or someone you left behind..."

Jean's genuine concern evaporated from her face within moments.

"Not really," she replied, no longer looking John in the eyes. "I was no longer close with them. If something were to happen to them, I wouldn't even know."

"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that," John said, looking at her with sympathy.

"Don't. Things have been like this for almost a decade now," she replied. Her eyes went cold for a moment, the way she looked at people when she was working in the bank.

She blinked, and her eyes turned back to normal. She took a sip of her coffee, looking down for a moment, then looked at him again.

"I'm happy you and your mom were so close," she said. "She seems like an incredibly strong woman."

John smiled, filled with nostalgia. "She was. I've never seen anyone braver than she was. And there was no one to help her when she needed it most, especially when I was still a little kid. Actually, let me show you a picture of her."

John took out his wallet and pulled everything out, including a few credit cards and some chewing gum. Among them was a small paper photo.

"That's her," he said, showing the photo to Jean. "I took the photo with the smartphone she bought me when I entered high school."

Jean took the photo in her hands. She looked at what seemed to be a selfie of John in the foreground and his mom behind him, smiling. He was holding the camera in one hand and his mother by the shoulder with the other. John was not particularly tall; he was about as tall as Jean. But in the photo he was still one head taller than his mother.

She also noticed that his mom was dark skinned while John himself was light skinned.

"Were you adopted, John?" Jean asked.

John nodded softly.

"To think that she had such a bad financial situation and yet still decide to adopt a kid," Jean wondered in a whisper.

"She wasn't that good with money as you were," John replied. "But I'm happy I had her as a mother."

Jean's breath stopped for a second as her mind raced to replay what she had just said. Embarrassment crept over her face as her hands retreated below the table.

"It's ok, Jean, I know you didn't mean it as a critique."

Jean raised apologetic eyes.

"I think I understand now," John continued. "I've been wondering for a while why you opened a café, now of all times."

Jean looked at John, then back at the photo in her hands. She inhaled deeply.

"Mom didn't tell me much about her life before she adopted me," he continued. "I was so little at the time. But I think she was better off at the time. Something happened to her. I don't know if she lost her job, or divorced, or some other reason. What I know is what she always told me—sometimes it takes losing everything before you can learn how to give."

Jean felt the corner of her eyes grow humid, she had no idea why. Her hands were numb, stil holding that photo. John continued:

"But sometimes... sometimes, losing everything is a form of freedom. I think it was the case for mom. And I think that might have been the case for you as well."

Silence.

"Jean?"

No answer. A tear dripped on the table, next to the photo.

"Jean... you're not a bad person..."

One more tear fell, and then another. One hand raised to cover her face. The other pressed its fingers against the delicate photo.

"... and even if you were a bad person at some point, it's not too late to be a different kind of person."

John sat up and drew closer to her. She lowered her head, as if she didn't want to be seen like this. John crouched next to her and gently held her shoulder.

"It's ok, just breathe."

She took a deep breath in, a deep breath out. She wiped her nose and raised her head.

He was there, standing next to her, just waiting, that stupid smile on his face. A little more concerned than usual. What on earth just happened? She couldn't tell.

And then she stretched one hand and held his hand, the one he had laid on her shoulder. She felt his palm sweaty, yet warm and gentle against her own. She squeezed that hand of his as hard as she could with all the force she could muster. But she couldn't break it, nor make it retreat. It simply endured under her grip, brave and honest.

He didn't say anything, but with kind eyes he simply stared back into her own.