“Shut up,” he mutters, tossing his cloth napkin at me.
I throw it right back. “You should keep that. Seems like you need it. In fact, do you want mine too?” I unroll my silverware and offer it to him. “I could ask the waitress for another when she comes back.”
Eyes narrowed, he shakes his head. “I’m fine.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.” He rests his forearm on the table, his gaze holding mine, his face serious. Taking in a deep breath, he holds it for a beat while he studies me, as though debating whether or not to say something. Finally, he asks, “Have you thought more about what to do about your car?”
I practically deflate at the question. I’ve been avoiding thinking about it because the reality is, I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what Icando. I don’t have money for a down payment on a new car. And I can’t really afford a monthly payment either.
It’s my turn to suck in a breath and hold it while I stall for time. Letting it out in one gust, I shake my head. “I don’t know what to do. The only real option is to ask my parents for help. If they can at least spot me a little for a down payment, that’ll help. And maybe co-sign?”
Jason cringes, and I do my best not to say something defensive. I know he’s asking out of concern, not because he’s judging me.
“I don’t really see any other options,” I say quietly.
His face softens, and his arm moves like he’s going to reach for me, but he pulls it back, scratches his cheek, then rests it in his lap. “I get it.” He studies me again, then asks, “And what about health insurance? You mentioned you didn’t have any. Is there something specific you need it for? Or just general health check-ups and screenings?”
My eyes narrow almost involuntarily at this question. “I mean, mostly general check-ups. I haven’t been to the doctor in a while. Not since I was on my parents’ insurance, and I was overdue for a checkup when I lost that. But it’s also for like when I had a sinus infection last winter, and it would’ve been really nice to get it taken care of. I couldn’t afford it, though, so I wasjust sick for a really long time. A friend of mine bought me a neti pot, and that helped a lot. But …” I shrug. “It would just be nice, you know?”
Brows crimped in confusion, Jason sets his arm on the table again, his palm out. “Hang on. Why aren’t you still on your parents’ insurance? I thought you could stay on until you’re twenty-six. And you’re still twenty-five, right?”
Shrugging, I shake my head. “At the last open enrollment period, my mom said she and dad could save money by each getting their own insurance through their jobs rather than one of them having a family plan. And since I’m out of college and should have a job, it was time for me to figure it out for myself.”
His mouth opens like he’s about to say something, but he closes it slowly and grunts instead. My lips curl in a suppressed smile. “What?” I press. “I know you want to say something.”
He finally looks away from me, sucking in a deep breath and glancing all around the restaurant. Shaking his head, he brings his eyes back to me. “I have so many thoughts. It’s hard to pick just one or two, so I think I better keep them to myself. Well, okay. I’ll say one thing. Hailey, I’m worried about you. Yes, I know your parents are here, but it seems to me that you lost them at the same time you lost Hunter. From what you’ve said, they barely took care of you when you were a kid, and they’ve done even less since you turned eighteen.”
“Well, I mean—” He holds up a hand, cutting off my paltry attempt to defend them. He’s not wrong, but it’s painful to hear it stated so baldly.You lost your parents at the same time you lost your brother. Jesus. I’d never articulated it like that before, not even to myself. But it’s true. I did. They became shells of themselves, going through the motions of living, but only barely. And they couldn’t be bothered to pay attention to me.
“I want you to move to Seattle,” he goes on, pulling me out of my thoughts on the bomb he just dropped in my lap, because now I have to deal withthisbomb.
“I’m sorry, what?”
“With me,” he clarifies. “Move to Seattle. You can stay in my place, drive my car, focus on building a studio and performing and whatever. I don’t know much about the music world, I’ll admit, but I know there’s a symphony in Seattle. And there’s a bunch of suburbs that have to have a symphony like the one you’re currently playing in here. You can practice and audition and have a home base. And if you want to audition at other places somewhere else, I’ll help you. Get you a coach if you need one. Or, y’know, however that works.”
I can barely breathe. “You want me to move in with you?” The question comes out as a gasp.
Lips pressed together, he nods firmly. “Yes. And, uh, well. I asked the front office about getting you added to my insurance. You need regular health screenings, especially after Hunter …” He leaves that thought hanging, though I know what he means. My brother died of cancer at a young age. What are the odds I get cancer too? I’ve tried looking it up, but I haven’t found any satisfactory statistics. I’m not sure there are any, to be honest.
He clears his throat. “Um, they, uh, they said that I can only add a spouse or children to my insurance plan.”
“Yeah,” I whisper. “That’s pretty standard.”
He shrugs. “I know. I just … sometimes we get better options than the standard, y’know? I figured I could check, at least. So, uh … Well. I think we should do it.”
I blink. “We should … do what exactly?”
“Get married.”
I blink some more. Because I can’t possibly have heard him right.
“It makes the most sense,” he goes on. “You’ll have a place to live, health insurance, time and space to pursue your career. A car. No more food delivery to scrape together enough money to pay rent.”
More blinking as his words tumble around in my brain. “And what do you get out of it?” It’s a dick question, but it’s the only thing I can think to ask.
“The knowledge that you’re being taken care of in the way you should’ve been all along.”
