Car… what car?
Oh my God.
“You refinanced the house so that Jeremy could have Ferarri? Where’s he even going to park it? How is he going to insure it?”
“I’m building a garage. And it’s notthatmuch more a month. You’ll figure it out.”
“Mom. I can’t pay for this.”
“What are you talking about?” Her voice sours. “Of course you can. All that money we invested in you and you wasted it?—”
“I got injured. I didn’tquit.”
She makes a disgruntled noise. “Don’t interrupt me. It’s rude. I raised you better than that. We’ll talk about this when we get back.”
I’m probably “ruining her fun” and she’ll probably expect me to repay her for that too.
“When will you be home?”
“Next Monday.”
I assume she doesn’t mean tomorrow. There’s another cheer and she says a hasty goodbye before she hangs up on me.
“Fuck.”
I throw my phone across the room, sliding down the wall to sit on the floor and press my hand to my mouth because I don’t want to throw up.
I weep instead.
CHAPTER 2
Numbers turn through my head on a carousel. I’ve done enough math in the last five days, they’ve started to blur together into an alien language I can’t translate.
Four thousand fifty-three dollars for a hastily signed month to month sublet. Nine flights of stairs in the walkup. Seven suitcases ferried back and forth. Three pints of ice cream from the bodega eaten while sitting on the floor with a bent spoon while I dissociated at the wall… add them together and what do you get? Bippty boppity bullshit.
“It’s your turn.” The woman who nudges me does so with a smile, but she looks concerned and I thank her, grateful that my legs hold me when I stand. My whole body feels numb.
I am not feeling up to this trip into the booth.
“You okay?” Olive asks, gently taking my arm.
“Actually… no, I don’t think I am. Um… I’m gonna go back to my locker room. Go ahead and skip me.”
“Sure,” she nods and taps the wall. “Do you need anything?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Okay, ask the bot if you do.”
I nod and make my way back through the room, not looking at anyone, not hearing the whispers.
I don’t really care what they think about my leaving.
That’s not true… if anyone’s new to the club, I hope I don’t make them apprehensive about their first time.
I’m just tired and distracted and. I look at my phone as soon as the door closes behind me.
Four missed calls and thirteen text messages to add to the total.
