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"It was and thank you." Her smile broadened and she swiped the screen to show me a photo of the two of them wearing similar hijab. "She makes me wear a headscarf when I visit."

"Do you speak Arabic?" I asked, and she nodded.

"I do. And Spanish, Italian, and French," she said, setting her phone down on the table. "And to boot, imagine being raised to follow Islam and Catholicism at the same time. My life has always been a ball of confusion filled with mixed messages."

"I can't imagine that. Did you favor one over the other?"

"I favored Atheism in the end. I can understand culture and community, from all sides. A god, however, never made it into my own belief system."

"Same. When the world is terrible at times, forming a belief in an all-knowing, all-powerful being is really hard when you're suffering," I said, and she tossed me a satisfied smile.

"What about your family? Have you always lived here?" She gestured in my direction.

"In Seattle?" I nodded, setting down my fork for a sip of wine. "Yes. But I don't have any blood relatives. My foster mother is my closest connection and some friends."

"You were in foster care?" Samirah's expression dimmed and she paused eating.

I nodded, dropping my gaze to poke around the stem of the wine glass. "Since I was about twelve."

"That must've been hard," she said, setting down her fork. "What happened? If you don't mind me asking."

A small laugh escaped me as I propped my elbow on my bent knee. I met her gaze, and her soft, warm, hazel eyes soothed me for some reason. "Are you really asking?"

"Of course, Rose. If you're not comfortable telling me, it's all right," she said, scooting around the side of the coffee table so that she sat closer to me, her hip by the toe of my boot.

"You can call me Rosie," I said, glancing down to the way her hand fell on her thigh. With her relaxed posture, and overall calming presence, she didn't make me feel out of place or like I shouldn't be there. "Everyone does."

"What's your middle name?" she asked, a soft smile curving her maroon-hued lips.

"Leigh. Why?"

"Rosie Leigh is a very pretty name." She reached toward my face, and I flinched before she stroked her knuckle down my cheek once. "Sorry. Was that okay?"

My entire face burned with heat that tumbled down the center of my chest to swirl in my stomach. I nodded while tucking my arm across my lap. "It's okay."

"You don't have to tell me about your family, Rosie."

"I want to. You've shared so much about yourself."

"I shared the surface. There's always something more, isn't there?" Her eyes flickered to the table then back to me.

I nodded, and drew in a slow breath. "Both of my parents had drug problems. My dad died of a drug overdose while he was in prison for drug smuggling across the U.S. and Canadian border. And my mother is currently in prison serving a thirty-year sentence for trafficking."

Samirah's eyes widened as if she didn't expect any of that. No one ever expects that. "Shit. I'm sorry. Were they both drug traffickers?"

I shook my head. "No. Not my mother."

"What did she traffic?" Her brow furrowed as her gaze seemed to dart all over my face.

"Me."

"What?" The way the question left her lips, the harshness and fury, caused my gut to twist with nerves. I wrapped my arms around my leg, and watched her as she rolled to her knees. A war broke out inside me, setting my heart to pounding and the burn of threatened tears to my eyes.

"I shouldn't have said that." My voice came out on a whisper. "This is not first date material."

Samirah waved her hands in front of me before she gripped my elbows, her eyes wild and glassy as she leaned down so that we were eye-level. "What do you mean she trafficked you?"

"Sold me to men for money or drugs." Every inch of me trembled with the intensity of her response. "You're scaring me."