I follow silently, and we get another dozen or so chairs moved as I start talking. Carefully—because I’m still not entirely sure how much I can tell her without violating Nico’s privacy—I start back about a week ago. I explain the text messages he showed me from his mom, how his cell phone is shut off and he’ll have to get a new number, how his mom is making him buy his car from her. And I can tell she wants to cut in, but I keep going because I need to get it all out now.
I tell her how I know I should talk to him about coming to California with me, but how that seems almost insensitive of me or something, given his current financial situation. And just as I set down another couple of chairs, my voice breaks.
“I-I don’t know if I can leave without him, Mom.”
Her arms wrap around my waist almost immediately, and I return the hug, lowering my head to her shoulder as my body shudders.
“Oh, sweetie, I know it seems hopeless, but I’m sure if you just talk tohim—”
“It’s not that easy,” I cut in, shaking my head against her. I let out a sharp breath, and all the rest of what I need to say comes pouring out. “I can’t pressure him like that. If I tell him the truth, if I tell him how much my heart breaks when I eventhinkabout leaving him behind, that’s only going to put more pressure on him when he’s already struggling so much to just get by! I can’t... I can’t do that. It’s not fair to him.”
She laughs quietly, though it’s warm and understanding, and her arms tighten around my waist. “Alex, sweetie, you know what’s not fair to him?” she asks slowly.
I groan. “Don’t say it’s not fair to him to not give him the choice. Youknowit’s not that simple. He’s got... he’s gotnothing, and he can’t just...” I pull back, and my eyes meet hers. “You know how hard it is for him. His anxiety...”
“I know,” she says with a gentle nod. She reaches up and wipes a tear from my cheek, but I shrink back, pulling away and shoving my hands into my pockets.
I shouldn’t be so embarrassed to be crying in front of her, but I am. It probably doesn’t help that I’ve done nothing to hide how I really feel about Nico, and I realize she just has to know the truth by now, if she didn’t already.
She stays where she is, but I can feel her eyes on me as I turn around and hastily swipe at my cheeks. Then she steps up behind me, and her hand settles on my back.
“I know how hard this is, sweetie. And I understand your reasoning. You’re right that he’s facing so many challenges—more than all the financial stuff that’s come up this week.” Her hand drops away, and she steps in front of me, lifts both hands to cup my cheeks, and tilts my chin up slightly so I’m looking at her. “But you have to give him the opportunity to make the decision for himself. And if you don’t tell him...” She pauses as her smile softens. “If you don’t tell him how you feel and what you want, how can heknow it’s even a possibility?”
I close my eyes and drop my chin back down, sniffling. She’s right, of course. “But the cost of living there...” I argue lamely.
“Alex.” Her hands slide down to my shoulders, and she squeezes gently. “It’s a lot, I know. But you know what I’m going to say.”
I nod. “There arealwayssolutions, even to the really hard problems.”
“Exactly. But you have to talk to him. Tell him how you feel, tell him what you want. And then, if he’s up for it, you two can figure out whatever the solution is,together. You have to give him the choice, and because he maybe doesn’t know or maybe doesn’t believe it’s even possible, you have to convince him that hedoeshave a choice. That heiscapable and hecando it,ifthat’s what he wants.”
My heart stutters in my chest as I nod again. “You’re right.”
“I usually am.”
I roll my eyes.
She laughs, patting my shoulder. “Come on, we’ve got a few more trips, and they’ll be here any minute.”
With a deep breath, I follow her back through the door to the garage to get the rest of the chairs.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Nico
“So,you’rewhat,abouthalfway done?” Sharon stands in the doorway, her eyes narrowed at the boxes of books remaining along the far wall. The books I’ve sorted and catalogued are stacked neatly along the other wall.
“Um, yeah. I think that’s about right.” I try to sit up straight, and I close the book I just finished flipping through to check for damage—an old biochemistry textbook that was grouped with several other older textbooks.
“I expect you to finish by Thursday, at the latest,” Sharon says, and I nod quickly as her gaze meets mine. Her eyes are intense and filled with skepticism, but I manage another nod that I hope is more convincing.
I feel oddly confident that Icanindeed finish by Thursday, or even Wednesday, and so I tell her that. “It won’t be a problem.”
She stares at me for several seconds, her expression unreadable, until I feel uncomfortable enough that I pull my gaze away and shrink down in my chair. I thought I’d been doing a decent job, but Sharon tends to always look like she’s angry. At least, that’s how she is when she’s interacting with me.
I sit there awkwardly for another few seconds, and then Sharon hums.
“Well, keep it up. When you’re done with this, I’ll give you the criteria for what we keep versus what gets recycled and what gets sold to the bookstore in Omaha. You can go through your spreadsheet and sort everything so we can send an invoice and then box up the books. You’re moving right along here. Good job.”
