One Week Girlfriend - By Monica Murphy Page 0,5

if he was getting out of earshot of Adele. "This Thanksgiving will be good, son. You'll see. The weather's supposed to be nice and your mother seems much healthier."

"She's not my mother," I say through clenched teeth.

"What?"

"Adele's not my mom."

"She's the only mother you've ever really had." Great. Now he's offended. "Why can't you just accept her? My God, she's been part of your life for so long."

The most fucked up part of my life, not that I can reveal that to my dad. If he didn't figure everything out then, he sure as hell couldn't conceive of it now.

"I don't like how easily you forget my real mom. I don't ever want to forget her," I say vehemently.

He remains silent for a while and I stare out the window but see nothing. It's dark, raining lightly and the wind is at it again, whipping the bare branches of the trees that dot the open courtyard of the apartment complex I live in back and forth. I can see them swaying in the darkness.

People think my life is so amazing. It's fucking not. I study hard and play harder because it helps me forget. I have friends, but not really. Most of the time, I'm alone. Like now. I'm sitting in my room in the dark. Talking to my dad and wishing like hell I could tell him the truth.

But I can't. I'm trapped. I need a buffer to get me through what could end up being one of the worst weeks of my life. Thank God for Fable. She has no clue how much she's helping me.

She can never know either.
Chapter Three
Travel Day (doesn't count)

Only a fool trips on what's behind him. - Unknown

Fable

His truck is nice. Like, the newest vehicle I've ever had the privilege to ride in. He looks good in it too, as much as I hate to admit that, even to myself. But the dark blue Toyota Tacoma fits him perfectly.

Everything about Drew is perfect. The way he dresses - his ass looks great in those jeans and I'm not even going to mention how that black T-shirt he's wearing clings to all his chest muscles. How he behaves - always polite, always looks me in the eye and doesn't make rude comments about my boobs or my ass. And the sound of his voice - deep and sexy, the sort of voice I wouldn't mind just sitting around listening to while he talks all day. He's got perfection down pat.

He called me yesterday before I went to work to go over a few minor things. What time he would pick me up, how we needed to draw up a plan on the drive to his parents' house.

Then I threw it out there. The money. How was I supposed to get my payment? I felt sorta whorish, asking for it point blank like that, but I had to. I wanted that check before I left town so I could leave some money for Owen in case of an emergency.

So I met Drew downtown by my bank fifteen minutes to closing and before I headed to the bar. We chatted for a few minutes, nothing major, and then he handed over the check. He was all nonchalant and stuff, like a guy gives a girl a three thousand dollar check every damn day of his life.

The check was written out of his personal bank account. Signed by him and everything. He has sloppy handwriting. I couldn't really read his signature. And his name is Andrew D. Callahan.

As I walked into the bank by myself and approached the teller, I wondered what that D stood for.

Now here I sit in Andrew D. Callahan's truck, the engine purring smoothly and not chugging and choking as if it might die at any moment like my mom's crappy '91 Honda. I told my mom the same nanny story that I gave Owen. Told my boss at La Salle's the same thing too. Considering my leaving is during a slow time for business, my boss was fine with it. He knows our financial situation is in the toilet and he was happy I found such a short, high paying job.

My mom hardly acknowledged me when I said I was leaving.

I really don't know what I did to make her hate me so much. Well. Hate is a strong word. That means she actually feels something toward me. She's so indifferent, it's like I don't matter to her. At all.

"Four