“You wouldn’t need to move in with me,” he says.
Damn, there goes getting out of Mom and Jeff’s house. Not that I’d actually move in with a complete stranger. I’m not that insane.
“But I’d need you to be available when I need you.”
“I see.” I cross my arms over my chest. “And you think I could just do that given how I’ve no job?”
“I have connections. I could get you a job.”
I hold up my hand to stop him right there. “I don’t need your charity job. I’d prefer to earn my own career.”
“I can respect that.” His jaw tightens. “If I can’t hook you up with a job, what can I give you in return? This would be a business transaction, after all.”
Shelter would be preferred.
Money to pay off my student loans would be amazing, but I’d never ask that.
The reunion is the only thing he can really offer me, but is that enough? That doesn’t really solve much. Just gives me a superficial upper hand. It doesn’t solve my money problem or the need to move out of Mom’s house.
Honestly, what was I thinking, looking for a rich husband? What was the end goal?
The more I think about it, the more I realize there was no end goal. This was . . . hell, this was a distraction.
“I’m not sure,” I say.
“I can go to your reunion, act as though we’re in love, whatever you need.” Desperation slips into his voice.
“I’m not even sure I’m going to that,” I say. “You know, I’m not sure this is really for me. I have student loans I have to pay off, so I don’t think I can be at someone’s beck and call when I should be finding a job.” I lean back in my chair and stare down at the table. “Jesus, what was I even thinking, coming to this meeting? A job, that’s what I need to be doing, finding a job, not worrying about what I look like at a stupid high school reunion.” I look at Huxley, whose brow is pinched together in consternation. “This was a mistake. I’m sorry.”
I stand from the table, and Huxley says, “Wait. We can come up with something that benefits both of us.”
I shake my head. Ultimately, this is another situation where a rich person gets what they want by using a poor person. Even though I’m currently lying to my mom and Jeff, I hate lying. You have the intellect to be more, to find a job that utilizes your skills. “I know this is going to sound prideful, but I’m not sure I should be taking handouts right now. I need to figure out what I’m doing with my life.” I look at the bag of chips and snag them from the table. “But I’m not too proud to take free food.” I pat the bag. “Thanks for these and thanks for your time. Good day, sir.”
And then I turn on my heel and take off. I last only until I reach the crosswalk before I dip my hand inside the bag and pop a chip into my mouth. Lime salt is my only comfort right now.
Lottie: I’m alive.
Kelsey: Well, thank Jesus. Do I dare ask, are you engaged?
Lottie: No. It was tempting, but I really need to focus on my career. That’s what’s going to move me along from this nightmare, not some stupid fake fiancée bullshit.
Kelsey: You know . . . maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.
Lottie: You’ve GOT to be kidding me. Have you lost your mind?
Kelsey: I was thinking while you were eating dinner—maybe you could do this fake fiancée thing and work for me at the same time. I’m so close to expanding, I could really use your help on the business side. I’d be able to pay you soon, and you could live with me for a few weeks. We could make it work. And he could help you.
Lottie: You’ve lost it. It’s okay, sweetie. Get a good night’s rest and then call me in the morning. I love you.
Kelsey: I’m serious.
Lottie: Night night.
“Hey, honey, how was work?” Mom asks from the kitchen, where she’s preparing dinner.
Pretending to be whupped from a tough day of dealing with Angela, I say, “Same old, same old.”
“Still no news on the promotion?”
I swallow hard. “No news.” I take a seat at the island in the kitchen and watch my mom stir the pot of spaghetti sauce she claims is homemade, though I know isn’t. She says she adds her own spices, which makes it homemade, but the empty Prego jars next to the sink suggest otherwise.
“Well, I’m sure it’s coming soon. What about the apartment hunting? How’s that going?”
Yup, I get it, Mom. You want me out.