A sinking feeling immediately settled in the pit of Taylor’s stomach. “But . . . ?” she asked.
“I found out last week that Avery, my middle daughter, needs braces. I have to sacrifice something to cover the dental bill, and unfortunately, that something is having a private fitness and nutrition coach.”
No! God, please.She couldn’t lose one of her few steady clients.
“Are you sure?” Taylor asked. “Maybe we can negotiate a new rate?”
“You’ve been a great help, Taylor, but I just can’t justify this expense any longer.”
Taylor knew she shouldn’t allow her disappointment to show, but dammit, this sucked.
Melonie placed a hand on her forearm. “I’m forever grateful for everything you’ve taught me. It’s been priceless.”
Actually, itdidhave a price. Sixty dollars per session, to be exact. She’d already earmarked the two hundred forty dollars she’d expected to earn from Melonie Phillips this month. Guess her car insurance wasn’t getting paid.
“I understand,” Taylor said. Because she did. If she understood anything at all, it was having to sacrifice to make ends meet. “We can always start the sessions again if your circumstances change.”
She gave Melonie a hug and helped her load her minivan with the groceries she’d purchased; then she got in her car and tried her hardest not to burst into tears. Her dad loved to bring up that old adageWhen it rains, it pours. Well, Taylor was in the midst of a freaking downpour that refused to let up for a single second. She wasn’t sure how much more of this she could take before she cracked under the deluge of pressure.
Once home, she found an empty plastic storage container propped against the door, a thank-you note taped to the lid. It was from Rob, her downstairs neighbor.
She baked when she was stressed—and not any of that healthy stuff like chickpea blondies or chocolate cake made with black beans that she encouraged her clients to eat. Give her all the sugar and butter. But, because she didn’t want the temptation of sweets around, she often shared the baked goods with Rob.
She unlocked her front door and made her way inside, dropping her backpack on the couch. She went into the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of elderberry kombucha from the fridge. She’d become addicted to this stuff, but a couple of weeks ago she’d started limiting herself to a half bottle per day.
Sacrifices.
She returned to the living room and plopped down on her couch. It felt as if the walls were closing in on her, as if no matter what she tried, nothing could get her out of this financial mess.
“Youcan get yourself out of this. You always do,” she said. But her voice didn’t hold the same conviction it usually did. She felt . . . defeated.
Shedespisedthis feeling. She’d made a promise to herself a long time ago that she would never allow defeat to enter her mind again. Because once you gave that insidious notion just the smallest bit of leeway, it took over. She could not allow that to happen.
She jumped up from the couch and returned to the kitchen, grabbing the bag of flour and canister of cocoa from the tiny pantry. She opened the refrigerator to retrieve a couple of eggs, but then she shut it.
“You donotneed brownies.” And neither did Rob. The way things were going, they would both end up diabetic if she didn’t turn her life around.
Instead of baking, Taylor reached for her cell phone. A group video chat would get her mind off her problems without the added sugar rush of brownies.
London was the first to answer. She was on her desktop.
“What’s up, chica?” she said, the bright yellow walls of her office at the hospital serving as her backdrop. It was decorated with cute stick figure drawings and photos of smiling kids.
“Nothing much,” Taylor said. “I was just calling to check in.”
“You started looking at colleges yet?”
Taylor should have known London would bring this up. “It’s on today’s to-do list,” she lied.
A second later, Samiah appeared. Her face was scrubbed clean and her hair was in a sloppy ponytail. It was a bit jarring. Samiah was always so put together.
“Hey, ladies, what’s up?” she greeted. “What are we talking about?”
“The twist on Taylor’s new project,” London supplied as she tilted her computer screen up. “Oh, just an FYI, I can’t stay on for too long. I have rounds in another fifteen minutes and I need to return my stepmom’s call before the end of my break.” She shoveled in a forkful of salad.
“Well, since you have to leave us soon, why don’t we talk aboutyourproject,” Samiah said. “How is your search for a hobby going?”
London had decided that finding a way to disconnect from her stressful career was what she needed the most. Becoming a renowned pediatric surgeon had consumed her every waking minute since medical school.
