Easy to talk to.
He came to my school’s career day carrying an enormous plastic piggy bank and explained saving money to my fourth graders.
The kids adored him.
He asked me out afterward in the parking lot.
On our third date, he asked about my family.
“My mother died when I was sixteen. My father and I aren’t close. He’s mostly retired now. He worked in logistics.”
That was all I said.
It wasn’t exactly a lie.
My father had stepped back from daily operations.
And we barely spoke.
I didn’t tell Roland that “logistics” meant Caldwell Freight.
By then, I had spent my entire life watching people change when they learned my last name.
Teachers suddenly became kinder.
Boys became more interested.
Friends’ parents suddenly wanted dinner invitations.
I wanted to know whether someone could love me without knowing any of it.
I thought Roland did.
