“Hailey,” I whisper, “you awake?”
“Yeah,” she mutters, then does another jaw-cracking yawn. “Barely.”
“I think you should plan on taking a nap when we get back to my house.”
She blinks her eyes open. “How much farther?”
“Almost there. Maybe ten minutes. Think you can last that long?”
With a sleepy chuckle, she nods. “Sure.”
“Should I keep talking to keep you awake? Or turn on the radio?”
“Mmmm, you can talk. But if you keep asking questions, you might get dumb answers. No radio, though. Too much.”
“Gotcha. Uh …” Of course, now that I’msupposedto talk, I can’t think of a single thing to say. “Uh, did you tell your parents you were moving here?”
She cracks an eyelid. “Not exactly.”
Arching a brow, I glance at her. “What does that mean?”
“Mm. Well. I called my mom and left a voicemail just saying I wouldn’t need their help after all.”
“Did they offer to help?”
“In a way.” She fills me in on her phone call to ask for their help and the terms her mom outlined. “I knew that if she had that much to say off the top of her head, the final contract would be worse. So when she messaged me with the link and time for our Zoom meeting?—”
“Wait, wait, wait,” I interrupt, holding up a hand. “A contract? AZoommeeting? Your parents wanted to have a meeting with you over Zoom to outline an actual contract for them to help you. Like you were going to have to sign a legally binding agreement?”
“Not a lawyer, so how well it’d hold up in court, I don’t know. But yeah. That’s the idea. A literal contract. She said they’d send it via Docusign.”
“Your parents. Wanted you. To sign a contract. To work for them. In order for them to help you. A contract.”
“Yup. So you see why I’m here instead.”
I open my mouth, but no words come out. I try to envision how my own parents would react if I were in the same situation as Hailey—down on my luck with a car that won’t work and no way to get to or from the places I need to go to make money.
They’d just … help me. I mean, if I were being a freeloader and spending all day scratching my balls and playing video games while eating all their food and leaving a mess in their house, sure, we’d have a come-to-Jesus meeting. And in thatcase, they might tell me to get a job or they’d kick me out. And I wouldn’t blame them one tiny little bit.
But it’s not like Hailey isn’t working. Isn’t trying. Isn’t kicking her own ass to scrape a living together doing what she loves. It’s not her fault her transmission died. And that that’s the thing that destroyed her ability to provide for herself.
“Fuck,” I whisper. “That’s super fucked up.”
“Yeah. So, like I said. I called my mom, and when she didn’t answer, I left a voicemail saying I wouldn’t need their help and that I got it figured out.”
“And she didn’t call back?”
I glance at her in time to catch her shrug and another giant yawn. “No. She rarely calls me. I call her sometimes, but not often. I guess they figure I’ll call if I need something? Not that they ever give the thing I actually need when I ask.”
Clenching my jaw, I swallow the angry words I want to say.
It’s wild to me. They were good parents when Hunter was still around. I mean, sure, there were times when Hunter was in charge of watching Hailey while they were at work, but it seemed pretty normal. Lots of other kids we went to school with were home alone with younger siblings for some amount of time at the end of the school day before their parents got home. But I had dinner over there often enough to see them take care of Hailey and Hunter. To watch them interact with their kids. They were good, loving parents.
And then Hunter died, and they apparently turned into … whatever this is.
“I’m sorry, Hailey,” I mutter.
She waves a hand, and I’m tempted to tell her it’s rude to wave away my sympathy, but I don’t. “‘S okay. I’m used to it at this point. I have to admit, I was a little surprised by the amount of control they seemed to want. But thinking about it, it was more just about dictating how I make money. I think if I wereto actually have done it, they would’ve mostly ignored me. Even if they tried to ban me from gigging or teaching, once I had a car and stuff, how would they stop me? Fire me from working for them? Kick me out?” She shrugs, seeming more awake than she has since we got in the car. “I mean, I guess that’s possible, but by then I’d have some money saved up from working, so …” Another shrug.
