What did you talk to your parents about, Nadine?
Told them I was resigning.
Despite being happy she’s staying, I know she was worried about what her parents would think. Yesterday, Nadine told me she decided she wouldn’t be returning to school after having a long discussion with one of her coworkers, who told her burnout is real, and she’d rather see Nadine leave and be healthy than stay at the school and be miserable, because not only would she hurt herself, but she’d hurt her students too. “Burnout leads to bad teaching” is what Nadine said resolutely, and I hugged her after, lifting her up off the floor. Completely forgetting that I shouldn’t betouching her like that when I have a girlfriend, but I am just so relieved.
Nadine is staying with me—I mean, my sister.
I text Nadine back.
How did it go?
Not terrible but not great either. They think I’m having some sort of mental breakdown. They suggested I move back in with them.
They also don’t fully trust you.
They can take a number to join the club.
Like in the media room, my fingers are typing before I’ve fully fleshed out my thoughts.
I only care that you trust me.
Do you trust me?
I want to.
Hope you weren’t lying about tripling my salary.
I couldn’t contain the shit-eating grin on my face if I tried as I email my accountant to make a wire transfer.
Hours later, after I talk a bit with Pearce and arrange weekly meetings with him and speak with Coach Roberts, who tells me not to lose my cool with the press again but that Lionel Barry is a “fucking weasel,” I pull my cell phone back out to find a litany of texts from Nadine.
This isn’t a joke, is it? You sending me this money.
$200,000 is more than triple my salary.
But I’m not giving it back. You better not be expecting this back.
I’ve never had this much money in my life.
This many zeros!
Do you know what I can buy with this?
A small house.
Or at least a trailer.
Who knows in this economy!
I think I might take all of it out of my account in single dollar bills and put it on my bed to make a money angel. Swim around in it. Do my best impression of Donald Duck counting money.
You’ve created a monster.
An awfully cute monster.
Who surprises me with a round of birthday mocktails when I arrive home. Nadine, Paisley, and I ignore the shadow of grief lingering just beyond the corners of the room while we eat cannoli, and I realize thirty feels wholly different from twenty-nine.
CHAPTER 13
