We haven’t spoken about the Housesitting Fiasco all week. That’s how I think of it in my head: capital H, capital F, a real doozy of a fuck up, but at least he’s been acting normal, at least for him. Exceptnormalfor Prime is probably bat shit crazy for anyone else.
The man comes and goes as he pleases. I don’t think he’s ever been to the office before ten in the morning and rarely before noon. In theory, he runs a successful real estate investmentportfolio with a fleet of parking lots as its core earner, but I’m pretty sure he doesn’t do any work. Most of the time, he signs whatever documents I leave on his desk, and he lets everyone else that works for him do the actual jobs. It’s a small company, only about twenty employees, but at least the boss is permissive, the paychecks come on time, and the yearly holiday party is a killer.
Dad snaps the paper down abruptly. “Eagles lost again!” He rubs a palm against his face. “Andy Fucking Reid, that cheesesteak guzzling fuck, gonna ruin this town’s good name, I swear on Christ.”
“Don’t swear on Christ, Vinnie,” Mom chides.
“Andy! Fucking! Reid!”
“McNabb’s a good player though,” I say, shooting Mom a glare. Reid and McNabb haven’t been a part of the Eagles organization in a decade, but it’s always better to play along. If I try to correct him, Dad will only get angry and upset. At first it felt terrible, like I was feeding his delusions, but I’ve gotten used to it. Only Mom ever bothers trying to set him straight, but even she doesn’t do it as often anymore.
At least dinner’s good. I want to grab a bottle of wine, retreat into my bedroom, and put on Netflix, but I have to help Daddy with his nightly routine first. Mom tries sometimes, but she’s too impatient. Once I found her berating him because he couldn’t remember where they kept the toothpaste, since he thought they lived on a house they’d moved out of before I was born. Another time she sent him to bed in all his clothes because he couldn’t remember his name. She cried herself to sleep for a week after that.But sick people get better.
I have dreams. Visions even. Long, detailed fantasies where I win the lottery and can afford full time help for my father, can pay for their expenses without worrying, can move out on my own, make friends my age, maybe even meet a man for once in my miserable life.
Instead, my reality’s this: carefully helping my father shave with an electric razor so he can’t cut himself at eight at night while my mother fusses with the TV that she claims is broken yet again.
I collapse in bed at nine-thirty, wine forgotten downstairs, since I can’t really afford to replace it anyway and I’m too tired to bother getting it. I have a long weekend ahead of trying to convince my mother that she needs more help while also teaching her the basics of financial literacy, which she flat out refuses.Vinnie takes care of that. Another one of her mantras. Except Vinnie can barely tie his own shoes let alone look up their bank account balance and take out funds from their savings.
My ceiling is the same ceiling I’ve always known. Pathetic, I know. Twenty-three, still living with my parents, my choices whittled down to nothing. No college because we didn’t have money and my dad was already starting to show signs of his illness. No prospects because what’s a high school graduate going to do with herself?
I’m deep in self-pity mode when my phone buzzes. I’m tempted to toss it away. There’s only one person in the whole world who would call me this late at night and I don’t want to hear from him. But he’s also my only lifeline right now, and as much as I hate it, I can’t risk alienating my asshole boss.
“What, Prime?” I blow out an annoyed breath and don’t care if he hears it.
“What are you doing right now, Deanna?” His voice is low and sexy. God, I hate him for that. It’s like he was born to talk dirty.
“I’m going to sleep.”
“Are you indecent? I only ask because the last time I saw you this late, you weren’t.”
I grit my teeth. I can’t believe he’s mentioning that out of nowhere, the bastard. “You weren’t complaining if I remember right.”
A soft, sensual chuckle. “You’re right. I’m still not.”
“What do you want, Prime? If you’re just calling to mess with me, I’m hanging up.”
“Wait. Hold on. It’s work.”
“I’m extremely skeptical of that.” I check the time. “There’s no way you’re working at almost ten on a Friday night.”
“You remember that investor we’ve been chasing? David Sorensen?”
I jerk upright. “Don’t tell me you’re talking to him.”
“Took him to a club, actually.”
“Prime—“
“It’s fine.” He sounds annoyed now, but screw him. David Sorensen is a player in the real estate world and we’ve been circling him for ages. I’ve been working his angle for months, sending him proposals, talking up the parking lots and the expansions we have planned, and all Prime has to do is stay the hell out of it, or at least not screw it up.
“Why the hell are you out with Sorensen right now?”
“He called me up and wanted to meet. I suggested that new spot that opened near Passyunk.”
“Why didn’t you tell me that?!”
“Because I knew you’d react like this.” He lets out a low, frustrated growl, and I hear street noise in the background.
