Of course Archer would jump to that conclusion. Boy lived in a trust-fund bubble where everybody knew his name (and his daddy's, and probably his daddy's net worth) before they'd ever spoken to him. That wasn't the world Rosario's family lived in. Late nineties? Her mom had been been raising a baby fresh outta high school and working the register at Walmart. She hadn't had the time to meet any rich college boys, let alone give a damn about 'em.
Only, when Carla opened her mouth to answer, the expected no never came. No sound did. She just stared as though paralysed into the phone, and Rosario's stomach constricted tighter.
There was no way. There was— physically, practically, for fuck's sake, socially there was no way their parents had ever crossed paths.
Three agonising seconds passed in silence, before at last Carla pressed her lips together and firmed her jaw, looking in the moment very much like her eldest daughter. "Was he— was he in a frat? I don't remember the, um— like, a big brick place with white columns?"