And now I have to go on living without either of them.
I wipe away the stray tear rolling down my cheek with the back of my sleeve and glance up to find Dwight staring at me like he can see into my soul.
“What?” I ask.
“I just... You’ve been through so much, and you’re so young.”
“Not much younger than you, I’m sure.” It slips out before I can take it back and my face falls.
“My brother-in-law, Logan, is always telling me he’s sure I’m an old man in a thirty-one year-old body.”
“Brother-in-law? Do you have siblings?”
“Uh, yeah. I have a sister, Victoria. But Logan was my late wife’s brother.”
“Oh. I’m sorry, I didn’t realise.”
“It’s alright,” he says with a reassuring smile before changing the subject. “So, are you going to tell me what’s going on?”
I take a deep breath and begin talking. “A couple of months ago, my roommate told me she was moving out to go live with her boyfriend, leaving me to pay for the rent and bills by myself. I couldn’t afford it on my own, so I advertised for a roommate, but no one wanted it, and since then I’ve had to get a second job.”
“Where do you work?”
Shit. This is not what I wanted.
“I work at a restaurant and from there I work at a club, a nightclub.” Technically itisa nightclub, just minus a few tiny details.
“That’s why you’re falling asleep in class, turning up late and not eating... because you’re either at work or at college?”
“Yep.”
“Quinn, you can’t go on like this. It's killing you.”
“You think I don’t know that? What am I supposed to do? If I don’t work, I can’t pay my rent and if I don’t go to college, I’ll end up being a stripper for the rest of my life.”
Fuck. Did I just say that out loud?
His brows knit. “What?”
“Nothing. Just that, if I don’t finish college, what kind of career will I have?”
Just as he is about to say something, the waitress arrives with our food, and she couldn’t have come at a more perfect time.
“Here’s your food!” she announces. She places our burgers down on the table in front of us. “If there’s anythin' else ya need, just holler.”
“Thanks,” Dwight and I say in unison.
I take a bite of my food, and watch as Dwight picks his burger apart, taking out the two slices of tomato in the centre.
“You don’t like tomatoes I take it?” I ask, the corners of my mouth curving upward as I change the subject.
“I hate tomatoes.”
“And yet you like ketchup.” I motion to the ketchup on the side of his plate.
He shrugs and I break into a wide smile, shaking my head.
“I hate peas,” I confess.
