Page 70 of Cloud Nine Love

Picking up did signify it was more of a date, and he’d know where I lived, but it also meant I would be able to enjoy more than one cocktail without worrying about driving myself home.

“I’ll text you the address,” I agreed with a nod.

“Do you have my number?”

“It’s on the directory.”

“Right.” His pager went off, and he started walking backward. “Okay, I’ll see you tonight.”

“See you tonight.”

He turned, and I continued out to the parking garage and felt a little twinge of guilt. I was using the good doctor to distract me from Remi. It wasn’t right. But I’d told him. Sort of. He was aware of a complication with a name. Well, technically, with two names.

31

REMI

“You are always looking at your nose, your brain just chooses to ignore it.” ~ Tim Rhodes

“What are we doing here?” my mom asked as we pulled up in front of her new home. “I thought you said you needed to pick something up from Ruby.”

The moment Jan showed me this property, I knew it was the one. Part of the reason was the location. It was half a block from Ruby’s and Kane’s. But that’s not all. It was the perfect size: a three-bed, two-bath cottage, 1200 square feet, with a one-bed, one-bath ADU in the back, which I planned on staying in. There was a vegetable garden in the backyard that needed a little TLC, and I knew my mom was the one to bring it back to life. When I was little, she’d loved gardening. She grew tomatoes, peppers, lettuce, carrots, and cucumbers. She used to make fresh salads every night for dinner.

I came around and opened the passenger door for her, and as she stepped out, I noticed that the color of her skin had a peachy hue to it again. When I arrived home, her complexion was gray. Her cheeks had gone from sunken to plump, and her eyes looked brighter. And she had put on weight. That wasn’t just wishful thinking; it was a fact. I’d taken her to see a rheumatologist in Dallas today, and they had her medical records from her emergency room visit and told her she’d put on four pounds since then, which she desperately needed.

On the drive home from the specialist, I’d broached the subject of her retiring from her serving days. She wasn’t a huge fan of the idea of quitting the diner, but then I handed her an envelope with her new bank account info in it. When she saw the balance was a hundred grand, she broke down crying. Then she’d told me she wouldn’t accept it. Then she cried some more. Then she said there was no way she could keep it. Then she cried some more. That cycle continued for the entire two-hour drive till we pulled back up to the trailer park.

Once we went inside the trailer, she hugged me for about an hour while she told me she didn’t deserve it. I tried to explain to her that she did, but finally told her that it was done, and we would just have to agree to disagree.

After that, we had dinner, and I told her I needed to go pick something up from Ruby. And now, we were at the second part of her surprise.

“Are you thinking about getting this place?” she asked as we walked up the porch steps. “Because the sign on the yard says sold.”

“It is sold, but I know the owner.”

“Oh, who is it?” she asked as we stopped at the front door.

I handed her the key. “You.”

She just stared at me, then looked down at the key, then back up at me. Her head started shaking before she spoke. “What? No. No. No. This is…what are you talking about?”

I pulled out the paperwork I’d signed this morning at Jan’s office. “This is your house. I closed on it before we left for Dallas this morning.”

Her eyes shot back up to mine; this time, there was fear in them. “Where did you get all this money? Did you win the lottery? Is it drugs? Porn? What?”

“I’m not sure guys make that much in porn, but no. And it’s not drugs. I told you, Misty’s parents bought me out.”

With the disparity in housing prices between San Diego and Wishing Well, I’d been able to save half of the money I’d received from Misty’s dad and add it to my savings. The rest went into the bank account for my mom and the all-cash offer for this house. I’d rather know my mom is taken care of than have more zeros on my bank balance. This gave me peace of mind, and that was priceless.

“That’s your money. I can’t take this.” She tried to hand me back the contract as tears pooled in her eyes. “It’s too much, Remi. This is your money. It’s your house. I can’t take it.”

“Yes, you can,” I insisted as I put the key in and opened the front door.

When she walked in, the look on her face would have made you think she’d just entered the Taj Mahal or the Sistine Chapel. In reality, we entered a small foyer area with a living room off to the right. The owner agreed to sell the house as it was, fully furnished. The house had been used as both a long-and-short-term rental and Airbnb.

The couch was a sectional beige that was cozy and comfortable. There were nondescript paintings on the wall and a large seventy-inch television, which was the only purchase I’d made. Over the past two weeks, my mom had spent most of her time resting on the couch and watching her shows. She deserved an upgrade from her thirty-five-inch TV.

We walked through the house, and every room we entered, she started crying again. She touched the walls, the light switches, the counters, and the furniture—almost as if she couldn’t believe it was real. By the time we came back inside after the ADU and backyard tour, I could see that some of the color had drained from her face. It had been a big day today; she’d done a lot.

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