“Thanks, guys,” I said, closing out of the presentation. Dr. Reed would have to approve of the final edits, but I had a feeling he would agree with their input. “This was really useful.”
“’Course,” Ricky said. He pulled out his laptop, then reached into his pocket for his phone and set the timer automatically. I smirked; I forced him to study with me so often that it had become routine for him. I’ve never been more productive in my life, he’d joked. At first, I’d felt guilty that so much of his day had to be spent watching me click through question banks, but he waved me away.
“I like your company. I don’t really care what we do,” he’d said earnestly, successfully reducing me to a puddle.*
“What’s that for?” Tabatha asked, cocking her head at the countdown on his screen.
“Timer,” Ricky said. He explained our study game, then pointed at me with his pen. “Have to keep that one honest.”
Tabatha didn’t smile.
“What do you do during the thirty minutes?” she asked. “You’re not in school, right? So are you just on the internet? Watching sports or something?”
Bless Ricky and his patience. He gave Tabatha his most indulgent smile.
“No,” he said slowly. “I do a good amount of freelance illustration work.”
He turned his computer around to show off his current project—the album cover he’d started a few days back. I leaned across the table to take a good look. On his screen was a face, androgynous, composed of triangles of varying sizes with lines of varying thickness. The proportions were intentionally off—the nose too long, mouth too wide, heavy-lidded eyes too close together—and the head was tilted to one side and rested on a pair of folded hands. It was beautifully stylized and quite different from his usual work.
“It’s coming along really nicely,” I said encouragingly. Next to me, Tabatha sniffed. There was no way she wasn’t even a little impressed, but I knew that she’d rather eat her foot than admit it. I watched her beadily as she tossed her hair over one shoulder.
“How much does all of this make you?” she said. “Can’t be much.”
My jaw dropped with mortification.
“Ricky,” I said quickly. “You don’t have to answer that—”
Ricky’s expression shuttered entirely, his eyelids dropping to half-mast as he met Tabatha’s gaze.
“Enough,” he said simply. Then he snapped his headphones over his ears.
An hour of tense silence later, Ricky shut his laptop with a thud. I met his eyes from across the table, burning with embarrassment. I’d known Tabatha would likely be rude, but I didn’t think she would be “ask Ricky about his income with the undertone that it wasn’t sufficient” rude. That move had big Dorothy Appiah energy, and it put me off.
“I’m heading out,” he said, piling his things into his bag. He stepped around the table to where I sat and pressed his lips to mine in a lingering kiss that I suspected was partially for Tabatha’s benefit. “See you tomorrow?” he asked. I nodded. Then to Tabatha, stiffly, “It was nice to meet you.”
Tabatha’s grin was incisive.
“Likewise,” she said.
I waited for the door to swing shut, then counted for thirty seconds to be sure that Ricky was out of earshot. Then, I swiveled in my chair to face my sister.
“The fuck is wrong with you?”
Tabatha placed a hand over her mouth, feigning innocence.
“What do you mean?” she said in a thin, tinny voice.
I glowered at her, folding my arms across my chest.
“That whole thing about money. You know I don’t care about that,” I spat. “I think what he does is great, and even if I didn’t, I’m going to make enough to support a family by my damn self. That was so incredibly shallow.”
“It wasn’t shallow,” Tabatha insisted. She placed her elbows on the table and leaned forward onto them. “It was realistic. I’m not worried about whether you’ll be taken care of financially, Angie. You’re about to be a doctor, I know you’ll be fine.” She gave me a defiant look. “But men can get funny about making less than their girl. I was just reminding him of your situation.”
“I didn’t ask you to do that,” I said. “So you shouldn’t have done it.”
“Why?” Tabatha asked. “You said so yourself, Ricky’s not your boyfriend. So what if I rough him up a bit?”