“Oh, um …” I say as I scramble to find my laptop. I know Mom will double-check dates and times, so I’d better tell her when the real orientation is going to be. The one I’m not going to. Because I’m not going to grad school. “I’m not sure the exact time. I wrote it down here somewhere.” I stop speaking, hoping she will drop it.
“Okay, it’s not a big deal,” she says, letting me off the hook, and I breathe a sigh of relief. “Just let me know when you find out, honey. Your father and I are so proud of you,” she says, her voice going soft at the end.
A pang of guilt stabs through me at how I’m lying to everyone. I don’t know why I feel like I can’t tell the truth. I just don’t want to face the disappointment on my mother’s face or the inevitable questions on why I don’t want to become something, in her words, wonderful and great. I can’t reason with her that I can become something wonderful and great with my bachelor’s degree. I’m plenty smart, but I’ve never had to work for anything in my life, and I’m tired of being that spoiled princess everyone sees back home.
“Thanks, Mom. I really need to go. I’m exhausted from moving.” I pick at a loose thread on my sleep shorts as I inwardly cringe at my life right now.
“Okay, baby. Call me tomorrow. I want to know all about everything you’re doing. Also, I looked up your apartment complex, and you really should have let me call around. I could’ve found you something better. I don’t like the look of that place.”
I smile to myself at the way my housing situation turned out. Mom has no idea just how much she wouldn’t like where I’m living at the moment.
“I’m perfectly safe, Mom. I’m not at that apartment complex anymore. I even found a roommate. Someone Mason knows,” I say without really thinking it through. I hope that Mom won’t make it her mission to find out everything about my new roommate. I grimace and almost drop the phone.
“Is that right? Well, I wish you had talked to me or your father about it first, but I realize you’re a grown woman. I would love to meet this roommate of yours.”
No, you really wouldn’t.
“Yeah, maybe soon, Mom. I love you. Tell Dad I love him.”
I listen as Mom gives me kisses across the phone before I hang up and flop back on my bed.
What a mess I’m in.
5 Ben
I wake up to four missed calls from Mark.
Shit. I should have realized that it would only be a short matter of time before I heard from him again. He can’t stay away for long.
“You won’t hear from me again,” he said angrily before he left.
I snort with a scoff as I remember and roll my eyes. I always hear from him again when he needs something. A place to stay, food, money. It’s normally money. I press the voice-mail icon and set my phone on speaker as I get up and ready for the day.
“Ben, it’s Mark. I’m sorry. I, uh … well, I need some help. Call me back.”
The voice mail ends, and I sit down, heaving a big sigh. Bending forward, I rest my elbows on my knees and rub my temples with one hand. I shove my phone in my pocket as I stand and resolve to deal with that situation later.
Opening my door, I see that Pepper’s is still closed, and I stare at it for a moment, remembering the way her eyes locked in on my naked torso last night and how her breath stopped for a second before it sped up. I don’t know why I noticed all of that, but now, I can’t get it out of my mind.
I continue into the kitchen to fix my standard breakfast of eggs, bacon, and a side of avocado toast, but I’m distracted by my phone ringing again.
Mark. So, I guess we’re going to do this now.
“Hello?” I can’t keep the frustration out of my voice as I bite out the curt greeting.
“Ben, thank goodness. Listen, I need some help,” Mark says, his words running together as if he can’t get them out of his mouth fast enough.
“You always need some help,” I say, pulling the carton of eggs from the fridge.
“That’s not fair,” he retorts.
“That’s completely fair. When is the last time you talked to me and didn’t ask me for something?”
“I don’t have time for this. Can you help me or not?”
“How much do you need?” I grit my teeth as I wait for his reply.
“Ten.”
“Ten dollars?” I freeze, knowing it’s not but praying like hell that he means ten dollars.
“Ten thousand,” he says, his voice begging.
My heart hardens and breaks at the same time.
“I just gave you two last month. What did you do with it?” I ask, my hand wrapping around an egg and cracking it before I realize what I’m doing. Muttering a curse, I throw the shattered egg in the trash and run my hand under the faucet. Silence greets me on the other end, and I don’t even know why I ask sometimes. “Look, I say this every time, but I mean it this time. I’m done helping after this. I don’t have ten, but I’ll get you what I can. Pay it off and be done. Quit this toxic habit you have, Mark.”
“Don’t tell Mom, okay?” Mark’s voice comes through the speaker, pleading with me with a touch of whininess that I hate. It grates on my nerves every single time I hear it, and it always has, growing up.
“I won’t tell her if you promise me.”
He doesn’t know it, but I’ve never told her about all the money I’ve lent him. Although I have told Dad. This has been going on since Mark was old enough to know what
