I have no fucking clue, and apparently, it’s “complicated.” But as we start back to his mom’s truck, his arm holding me close, I find myself hoping, maybe for the first time, that “complicated” doesn’t mean “impossible” and that we might actually have a chance to figure it out.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Alex
Theviewfromthetop of the stairs down frightens me tonight. The lights are on this time, and I can see Nico sitting on the couch in the living room, even from my vantage point. But something about it rattles me.
He’s got his back to me, his shoulders hunched, and he’s tense—I can tell that even from here. Still, that shouldn’t be enough to have my heart racing unevenly, my stomach in knots.
I grip my laptop in my hand, pressing it against my side, and I let my other hand slide along the railing as I start down the stairs one at a time. The third step from the top creaks, even though I’m trying to walk silently, and my eyes dart back to Nico as he twists around toward me.
He’s scared too. I can see it in the tightness in his jaw and the stiffness of his movement.
I force a smile and try to loosen myself up a bit, releasing my hold on the railing so I can jog down the rest of the steps.
“Ready to do this?” I say, as upbeat and positive as I can.
But his gaze darkens, and he frowns. “No.” He turns so he’s facing forward, away from me, and my fake smile fades.
I don’t know what to say, so I say nothing.
He pulls his feet up from the floor to sit cross-legged as I come aroundthe side of the couch to join him, and he seems to scoot away a few inches to give me more room, which doesn’t help the knots in my stomach much. I settle into my spot with a sigh and set the laptop on my lap, but I don’t open it. He’s fidgeting next to me, his hands tucked under his arms and his body rocking ever so slightly forward and back. I wonder if he knows he’s doing it.
When I glance sideways at him, he’s staring down at the coffee table in front of him, his teeth clenched and his eyes unfocused.
We’re both nervous, and I wish I could just ease that anxiety of his and tell him it’ll all work out.
I reach over and set my hand on his knee, and he stops his rocking and turns his head to look at me. His eyes are almost pleading, and it makes my heart ache.
I force that small smile back on my face. “We can make this happen. Okay?”
“You’re not exactly screaming confidence here, Alex.” He drags his gaze away and closes his eyes.
“I know. I’m sorry. I’m—”
“Don’t apologize. Please.”
“Right, um...” With a sharp exhale, I open up my computer and click a few buttons. The numbers I’d worked so hard on earlier pop up on the screen, and I scan them quickly. It’s a bit of a mess. Not the spreadsheet, I mean; the spreadsheet is clearly organized and easy to follow, I think. But the numbers. They’re tight, and everything hinges on him finding a good enough job and a place to live that doesn’t cost an arm and a leg. I take a deep breath and then shove the computer over to him. “Here.”
I should probably explain. Go through line by line. Tell him how I came to the numbers I did. But I’m not sure whether he’ll appreciate knowing how much my mom was involved or my thought process to get the numbers to “work.”
He untucks his hands and adjusts the laptop, and I watchnervously as his eyes scan down the lines. His jaw is still tight, and he seems to be trying to hide the fact that he’s shaking as he scrolls down the page. He blinks in confusion but doesn’t say anything, and he keeps scrolling.
“What’s... what’s minimum wage there? It’s not that much, is it... ?” The hopelessness in his tone pierces right through my heart, and I drop my eyes back to my lap as I shake my head.
“No, it, um, just went up to eighteen twenty an hour at the beginning of the year in Palo Alto. But twenty-five isn’tthatmuch higher. And if you can find a job that pays that much, and we get lucky with finding a place for you to rent, then—”
“A place to rent that’s less than two thousand a month, includingallutilities,” he cuts in. “And, that’s assuming they’ll even rent to me, since I don’t have an employment history. And that’s assuming I can put down a deposit. And—”
“I can help with the deposit.”
He’s scowling at me when I look up at him, and I hesitate, feeling myself almost wanting to shrink away. It’s an odd feeling for me, and I don’t like it much. But I hold his gaze and watch as his scowl turns into pain and hurt and sadness.
“Even if—even if you did...” He shakes his head and looks back at the computer. “Twenty-five an hour? What if I can’t get a job? What if I can’tkeepa job? And the—” He sucks in a breath and motions to the computer, though he doesn’t say anything more.
His desperation is so clear and palpable, and I just want to take it all away. But this is the reality of the challenge we’re facing if we want what we want—or at least, it’s certainly whatIwant. With a deep breath, I scoot over closer, and I reach over and scroll back up to the top of the spreadsheet.
The first few lines are in bold, and I point to the top one.
