Say You'll Remember Me(54)

She shook her head. “Do you ever hear from them? Or see them?”

“No. Not really. They still live in the same city, but I’ve never run into them. They do check up on me though. I know that. I see it on Instagram. A few years ago they sent a friend to try and guilt me into talking to them. They’re both sick and disabled and they need help, which I will never give them.”

“Talk about reaping what you sow,” she said.

I thought about Samantha’s mom. She was also reaping what she sowed, but in the best way.

She was so loved. She had a family willing to give up everything to take care of her. If Lisa was loved even a little less, Samantha might be in Minnesota with me. But I wouldn’t change it. I was glad she had nothing but good memories of her childhood.

“God,” she said. “Imagine growing up like that and turning out the way you did. And no wonder you hate people. I’d hate people too if that was my first introduction to them.”

She wasn’t wrong.

I gazed at her. She looked beautiful. Tired—but beautiful.

“I’ve never told anyone that story,” I said.

“How does it feel now that you have?”

I thought about it. “Lighter,” I said.

She wrapped her arms around my neck. “Your days of being treated badly are over. Forever.”

I looked at her mouth. “At least they didn’t make pasta just to torture me with chorizo.”

She rolled her eyes. “My brother will never be the bigger person. He will only be the bigger bitch.”

I smiled and leaned over and hovered there for a second before I closed the distance and my lips pressed into hers.

The kiss was slow and easy, but my heart pounded anyway. Something about her just felt right. She’d felt right from the very beginning I realized.

Only the logistics were wrong.





23





XAVIER


I WAS AT work. My dog was sitting with his head in my lap while I sat at the break table in between patients, looking at the bills. I’d been home a week. Samantha and I had talked and texted every day since I’d left. Some nights we talked for hours.

I was consumed with how I was going to get back to California. Seeing Samantha had become my singular goal.

I had to figure something out. The catch-22 was that in order to afford to go, I needed to work more, but going meant I had to take time off work.

The last trip to see her had set me back $1,600. The rental car, the hotel room that I’d barely used, parking at the airport, the flight, the dinner at Castaway.

Even if I only went once a month, stayed with her, didn’t rent a car, and didn’t take her to do anything, which was not realistic, I was still looking at a minimum of $500 per trip. And that was a conservative guess. So $500 a month was $6,000 a year—and I didn’t have $6,000 lying around. If I did, I should be using it to fix the ancient air conditioner on the roof of the clinic or to upgrade the office laptops or to add extra kennels to the back.

Maybe I needed to raise my rates. Get creative. Start selling items out front? Dog bowls, leashes, collars. Send Maggie and Tina to classes for new specialties like dog training or ultrasounds that we could charge for. But even that would require an initial investment for me to get them their certifications and buy the inventory.

I let out a sigh and closed the laptop.

Maggie and Tina came back from their lunch breaks.

“We got you a burrito,” Maggie said, handing me a bag.

“Thanks. Hey, would either of you be interested in stocking retail items?”

Tina shrugged. “I’ll do it. Why? You think we need it?”

“I need to generate more income.”

Maggie took off her sweater and hung it. “You know, we could always get another doctor if you need the clinic to make more money.”

We couldn’t get another doctor. The business couldn’t afford it.

The loan payments for the practice were astronomical.

After I paid my loans every month, the utilities, payroll, and all the rest of the overhead, I got to keep what was left.

Sometimes what was left was less than minimum wage.

While bringing in a second doctor might mean we could take more business, it also meant I’d have to pay them a doctor’s wages. I couldn’t even pay myself a doctor’s wages half the time.

I knew the statistics when I got into this. Almost half of all small businesses went under within five years. And most didn’t make a profit for the first few years either. Considering those two things, I was actually doing okay. And it wouldn’t always be like this. Once the practice was paid off and I could keep everything it made, I’d be doing very well for myself—but that wasn’t going to help me now or anytime soon.

That was the trade-off. I could have worked for someone else—I did. After I got licensed, I worked at an already established clinic for a while. The pay was reliable and stable, the benefits were good. But I’d wanted something that was mine. I wanted my name on the door.

I wanted my parents to see what I was capable of.

I didn’t mind working hard and living lean. But now I found myself with very few options and even less wiggle room to find the time or the money to see Samantha.

“We’re not in a place to take on another doctor right now,” I said, not getting into the details.