Zac nodded solemnly. "I won't. I swear."
She sighed, and looked at the ground. " My parents aren't really my parents," Jocelyn said.
Zac's face was overcome with confusion. "Huh?"
She sat for a moment, trying to figure out a way to explain what she meant. "My real mom is my mother's little sister," she said. "She had me when she was only 16, and she had run away from home. Nobody really knows where we lived when I was a baby. I remember moving around a lot to some really scrummy places. My real mom was never home and when she was she either had men with her or was high."
Zac's eyes were as wide as saucers. He couldn't picture Jocelyn living a life like that. She wiped away the few tears that had slipped down her cheek. "I guess I was about 7 when my real mom called up my aunt. I'm not positive, but I think she had some sort of cancer. All I knew was that she was sick. My aunt came and stayed with us at our apartment for a while and helped us clean the place up. It was so new to me to have clean clothes and floors, and to have food in the kitchen. I had gone so long without it. When my mom died, she left my aunt in charge of me. She's my mom now, just like Dad is my dad, and Josh is my brother."
"Do you miss your real mom?" Zac asked.
"Sometimes," Jocelyn said. "I remember on Christmas one year, she didn't have any men over and she was sober. She said to me, 'Jossie, how would you like to see the lions today?'." She smiled. "And she and I snuck into the zoo, and went to see the lions. When she wasn't stoned or anything, she was a good mom. She sang me songs, and would play with my hair. Sometimes, late at night, when both of us were hungry she would crawl into bed with me, and tell me someday she would be able to give me a good life. She did, and I love her for it."
Zac sniffled. "I'm sorry," he said.
"Don't be," she said. "It's not your fault."
They sat quietly for a moment. "Do you look like her?" Zac asked.
"Like who?" Jocelyn asked.
"Your mom," he said.
She nodded. "Just like her," she told him. "Only she was a lot thinner than I am and blonde."
He pushed himself back and forth in the swing with his feet. He studied her. Her eyes were distant, and her long hair was reaching out like several dark, thin fingers in the wind. Feeling his eyes on her, she turned to look at him. "What?" she asked.
He just shook his head. "Nothing. Nevermind." A quick glance at his watch spared him from an awkward silence. "Can I use your phone? I need to call home before my mom starts to worry."
"Okay," she said, and lead him back inside.
