I let that small truth serve as my life excuse.The one nurse quit, but a new one will be arriving before Samantha’s shift is over.Timothy doesn’t need to know that, though.
He blinks, confused.“Why does your father have a nurse?”
Of course he doesn’t know.We never talked about my dad’s stroke the couple of times we were on the phone.This should be the moment that stings, but it just dulls the edges more.I give him a clipped explanation: the stroke, the rehab, the slow recovery.There aren’t many details.I don’t even let in my current emotions.I just say enough to get me through this conversation.
“Do you need money for his care?”he asks.
I stare at him.“Money?”
“Yes, isn’t that why you’re here?”He makes it sound like this is a transaction.
It’s funny that he reminds me of my father, who would just expect me to talk to him when I needed something.Our relationship has never been loving or deep.Just ...transactional.Fuck, it seems like I’ve been dating my father.That’s—not what I expected to discover today.
“What?”The syllable feels foreign in my mouth.“Why would you think I need money?”
“I know you don’t earn much at the shop and the music lessons ...I’m sure they don’t pay you much either,” he says gently, like he’s trying not to bruise my ego.“It’s admirable that you’re juggling so much with so few resources.”
So little?
“Little resources?”I repeat, baffled.“My dad has insurance.”
“Oh.Good.That’s good.Though if you ever need anything?—”
“I have money.He has money,” I say flatly, my brain trying to catch up with whatever just happened here.
He smiles like I’m a child pretending to be an adult.“You don’t have to pretend with me, honey.What does the shop pay—seven dollars an hour?”
Lola makes fifteen dollars an hour, but I’m not here to educate him on labor ethics.
Then it hits me like a goddamn record drop.
“You think I work there?”
His brows draw together.“Don’t you?”
“I mean, sometimes.But I own the place.”I cross my arms and study him.
“You own it?”His eyes flicker with confusion.“Then why do you live in that tiny apartment?And why the music lessons if the store gives you income?”
He’s trying to solve me like a riddle; he just realized he’s never read all the clues.Two years and he’s still guessing the basics.
“Does my financial status matter?”I ask, low and level.
“Well, yes,” he says, not blinking.“I’m dating this talented teacher who works part-time at a record shop.You know how that looks among my circles.”
Okay, I’m even more confused now than I was when this conversation started.
“You’re dating a teacher who can barely pay her bills?”I clarify, and I swear, he hears the teeth behind the smile.“Because your circle ...likes that?”
“Which I totally respect,” he adds quickly, ignoring the part about his circle.“But yes, it looks good that I’m with a girl from the other side of the tracks so to speak.”
I laugh.I fucking laugh.Because it’s ridiculous that in two years, we barely scratched the surface of each other.He was safe in the way white walls are safe—completely devoid and soul-sucking.I didn’t even realize how much I was starving for attention until last night.Until I felt the fire and wanted to burn.
“What’s so funny?”
“You ever heard of The Cooper Saints?”I ask.I don’t wait for the answer.“Or Ethel Price?”
His face lights up a little.“The Cooper Saints?Of course.My father has a guitar signed by the entire band.”
