you learn to make it?”
“I read a recipe book and then practiced.”
“Well, it’s great.”
“Thanks. Did your mum teach you how to cook?”
“Hell, no. Did your mum teach you?”
“Ha!” I snorted. “The only thing my mother taught me to do is how to fetch another can of beer from the fridge, and how to pick up men who are the love-you-and-leave-you type.”
I saw Patrick roll his eyes. “It sounds like she’s on par with my mother. Maybe they’re sisters?”
“Yeah? What was your mum like?”
“I only knew her for two days. Then she walked out of the maternity hospital and left me there.”
“What?” I was flabbergasted.
“Yeah.” Patrick was matter-of-fact about the issue. I guess he’d had his whole life to get used to it. “Apparently she wasn’t really in a position to look after herself, let alone a baby who was blind.”
So that answered one question I had. “So you were born blind?”
“Yeah. They think she did drugs or something when she was pregnant, and it caused my blindness.”
“Shit! So what happened to you?”
Patrick shrugged and patted the area next to his bowl until he found the plate with bread on it. “I was adopted by Max Stanford. He was a bachelor in his fifties who wanted a child to pass on his money and property to. They wouldn’t let him adopt a perfect baby, but a blind baby?” Patrick trailed off suggestively and shrugged again. “He never cared about my eyes and I’m pretty sure there was some sort of large donation made in order for me to be placed in his care. So I was raised by a large contingent of nannies and private tutors until I was old enough for Max to mold into what he wanted. We both ended up with what we wanted—so it was a win-win situation. I was given the name of my birth mother so I could look her up, but I’ve never bothered to track her down. She could be dead, she could be living next door, she could be cleaning my house. I don’t care.”
I laughed. “Nope. Not cleaning your house—that’s my job.”
He smiled at me. Gosh, I thought, I could spend my life gazing at that smile. I had to readjust myself in my pants. I coughed slightly and gathered my plates to take to the dishwasher to hide my embarrassment. “So is Max still around?”
His smiled dimmed, and I immediately felt bad for asking. “No. He’s been gone eight years now.”
“Man, sorry. So tell me about you? Are you planning on having a dozen kiddies to run through this house and keep your housekeeper busy?”
“No.” His answer was short and he didn’t try to explain. I looked at him over my shoulder as I loaded the plates in the dishwasher.
“Why not? A good lookin’ fella like you ought to have a couple. You would be doing the world a favor by filling it with beautiful children instead of some of the ugly mugs I see. You know, I’ve never understood people. They go off and have plastic surgery to fix all their ugly faults, marry someone who’s had plastic surgery to fix their failings too, and then they wonder why their kids come out looking so terrible. People seem to think that somehow surgery alters their DNA and their sperm or something. You’re not thinking that your blindness is genetic, are you?”
“No. I’ve had all the tests. My eyes are perfectly formed but my retinas never attached in the womb. It’s not genetic.”
“Cool.”
“What about you? Do you have any kids?”
I laughed as I ran some water in the sink to wash up the last couple of items. “Unless you have an appalling memory, you’ll know I’m gay. How do you think I’m going to get a kid when there’s no uterus involved in my sexual conquests?”
“I don’t know. I’m sure you can buy them on eBay these days.”
I cracked up. “You probably can! But, no, serious. I’d love one but I can’t afford a kid at the moment. To me a kid is something special. I know accidents happen and all—hey, look at my sister!—but people shouldn’t be having kids
“I read a recipe book and then practiced.”
“Well, it’s great.”
“Thanks. Did your mum teach you how to cook?”
“Hell, no. Did your mum teach you?”
“Ha!” I snorted. “The only thing my mother taught me to do is how to fetch another can of beer from the fridge, and how to pick up men who are the love-you-and-leave-you type.”
I saw Patrick roll his eyes. “It sounds like she’s on par with my mother. Maybe they’re sisters?”
“Yeah? What was your mum like?”
“I only knew her for two days. Then she walked out of the maternity hospital and left me there.”
“What?” I was flabbergasted.
“Yeah.” Patrick was matter-of-fact about the issue. I guess he’d had his whole life to get used to it. “Apparently she wasn’t really in a position to look after herself, let alone a baby who was blind.”
So that answered one question I had. “So you were born blind?”
“Yeah. They think she did drugs or something when she was pregnant, and it caused my blindness.”
“Shit! So what happened to you?”
Patrick shrugged and patted the area next to his bowl until he found the plate with bread on it. “I was adopted by Max Stanford. He was a bachelor in his fifties who wanted a child to pass on his money and property to. They wouldn’t let him adopt a perfect baby, but a blind baby?” Patrick trailed off suggestively and shrugged again. “He never cared about my eyes and I’m pretty sure there was some sort of large donation made in order for me to be placed in his care. So I was raised by a large contingent of nannies and private tutors until I was old enough for Max to mold into what he wanted. We both ended up with what we wanted—so it was a win-win situation. I was given the name of my birth mother so I could look her up, but I’ve never bothered to track her down. She could be dead, she could be living next door, she could be cleaning my house. I don’t care.”
I laughed. “Nope. Not cleaning your house—that’s my job.”
He smiled at me. Gosh, I thought, I could spend my life gazing at that smile. I had to readjust myself in my pants. I coughed slightly and gathered my plates to take to the dishwasher to hide my embarrassment. “So is Max still around?”
His smiled dimmed, and I immediately felt bad for asking. “No. He’s been gone eight years now.”
“Man, sorry. So tell me about you? Are you planning on having a dozen kiddies to run through this house and keep your housekeeper busy?”
“No.” His answer was short and he didn’t try to explain. I looked at him over my shoulder as I loaded the plates in the dishwasher.
“Why not? A good lookin’ fella like you ought to have a couple. You would be doing the world a favor by filling it with beautiful children instead of some of the ugly mugs I see. You know, I’ve never understood people. They go off and have plastic surgery to fix all their ugly faults, marry someone who’s had plastic surgery to fix their failings too, and then they wonder why their kids come out looking so terrible. People seem to think that somehow surgery alters their DNA and their sperm or something. You’re not thinking that your blindness is genetic, are you?”
“No. I’ve had all the tests. My eyes are perfectly formed but my retinas never attached in the womb. It’s not genetic.”
“Cool.”
“What about you? Do you have any kids?”
I laughed as I ran some water in the sink to wash up the last couple of items. “Unless you have an appalling memory, you’ll know I’m gay. How do you think I’m going to get a kid when there’s no uterus involved in my sexual conquests?”
“I don’t know. I’m sure you can buy them on eBay these days.”
I cracked up. “You probably can! But, no, serious. I’d love one but I can’t afford a kid at the moment. To me a kid is something special. I know accidents happen and all—hey, look at my sister!—but people shouldn’t be having kids
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