My behavior forced you out of your job—and my life—” His voice dips on those last two words. “I decided to rectify one wrong even if I can’t fix the other. You don’t have to support your parents anymore. You’re free.”
Hot tears stream down my cheeks, and my lip quivers.
“You’re making this worse, so much worse.” I break into sobs I can’t hide, blown to smithereens.
“You’re crying again?” His voice sounds urgent, strained. “Sabrina...forgive me. I thought I was helping. I wanted to get the burden of supporting them off your shoulders so you’d—”
“No!” I scream. He’s not finishing that sentence. “If you really want to help me, just stay the fuck out of my life and away from my family.”
Pause.
“Can we talk please? Just hear me out, and then if you’re still through with me, I’ll stay out of your life forever. I give you my word, Brina,” he says, his voice this brick wall.
You will anyway, I tell myself.
Then I hang up and block his number again. I stay in the car crying into my hands until Mom comes outside looking for me.
Just awesome.
She taps on the passenger window and I unlock the door.
She opens it, slides in, and leaves the door open and props her feet up on my window. “What’s wrong?”
I shake my head, wiping at my eyes. “Nothing.”
Her smile is gentle now. She reaches across the console and combs her fingers through my hair. “Brina, don’t lie to me. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” I hiss, even while my heart shears in half.
“I always cry when nothing’s wrong too,” she says with a small smile. “Does this have to do with you randomly quitting your job?”
“It wasn’t random.”
“I know.”
There’s a long pause.
“I cared about him—it—the job, I mean—more than I realized.” That’s not even true.
I knew how much I loved him.
It just didn’t matter.
I was nothing but a game to him. Another property on the big board of life he conquered and won.
“You could always—reapply?” Her lips purse on the last word.
Yeah, we both know we’re not talking about jobs.
I shake my head. “I can’t, Mom. It’s a bad job with a dead end. It only cares about scoring big—uh, for shareholders—in the moment.”
“Most girls have a job like that once or twice. Sometimes when you walk away, he—the job—realizes your worth. And if that job doesn’t see the asset you were, you find someone—uh, something—you love more. Like a sexy machinist who doesn’t care that you wore tap dancing shoes and a tiara on a first date, or that he had to drive back to the coffee shop after it closed because you left your keys.”
I laugh and dry my eyes.
“Really? So you were always like this?”
She grins. “Of course. And if I weren’t—say, if I was very practical and maybe a little bit bossy, but still had a creative streak—any man who didn’t like practicality with a colorful streak in his life could go to hell. There are other fish in the pond even if they don’t all make millions. Money can’t buy happiness.”
I look out the driver window. “What if you weren’t sure if you could be happy with anyone else?”
She pats my back. “Then I’d have to weigh how much I need him in my life against his sins. Oh, and don’t forget the grand gesture! The bigger the sin, the more he has to pay to win you back.”
“Oh, Mom.” Rolling my eyes like mad, I smile at her. “You think everything’s a plot.”
“Yep.” She nods, guilty as charged. “The food’s getting cold and your dad’s on his third plate. Can we eat now?”
The next day, I force myself out of bed with the promise of a cinnamon latte and a bear claw.
The best perk of freelancing is my coffee break comes whenever I want it.
At Sweeter Grind, I place my order and find an empty table by the window. I plug my laptop in so I can work on a client’s site design. I power it on and take a huge bite of the bear claw.
Ugh. It’s as dry as sandpaper.
Then again, I haven’t really enjoyed food in weeks. Maybe Sweeter Grind isn’t suffering from quality control, and it’s just me.
“Brina Bristol!” the barista calls.
I walk to the counter and get my drink. There’s only one cup on the counter. It has my name on it, but it can’t be for me. White foam spells out I’m sorry, and three little hearts float above the foam.
“Umm—sorry, but I don’t think this is