Page 1 of Billion Dollar Mistake

Chapter 1

Nova

“Don’t you have anywhere else to be on a Saturday Night?”

I stiffen before returning to the soup I’ve prepared on the stove. “No. I like hanging out with you guys.”

Mom side-eyes me.

“What?” I ask.

“I didn’t say anything,” she says, walking away from me to open the fridge.

“No, but you want to,” I reply, before tasting the soup. The minestrone is cooked to perfection if I do say so myself. I won’t be able to come over to their house much this week since I need to prepare for my upcoming job interviews. Which means I need to make sure they have leftovers.

“I worry about you. You’re turning twenty-five this year and all you do is hang around with us on the weekends.”

I look away from her accusing gaze and focus on the stacked white bowls she’s bringing over to me.

“Thanks,” I mumble, grabbing the bowls one at a time and filling each with soup. Because I can’t afford to waste any of it, I concentrate so I don’t spill a drop.

“I don’t want to go out. I’m too tired,” I lie.

Lying is not something I like to do. And I refuse to tell her I can’t afford to go out. The moment she learns I’m giving her and Dad all my money, they’ll stop taking it. And I don’t want that. Since Dad’s colon cancer diagnosis, he hasn’t been able to work, and Mom’s department store wage isn’t enough for them to survive on. I want to be able to contribute and since I’ve finally finished college, I’ve been applying for full-time accounting jobs, and with some luck, I’ll get a job this week.

“But don’t you want to spend more time with friends or find a special friend.” Her voice hitches with hope.

We carry the bowls to the table and set them in front of our seats, the ones we’ve sat in since I was little.

“I spend plenty of time with my friends. I live with them,” I say, as I move to the cupboard to grab crusty bread and then to the fridge for the butter.

“It’s not enough. And you're avoiding the topic. What about a man?”

I groan as I walk back over to join them at the table. Most people are not this close to their parents. But I am. “Mom, I only connect with guys on a surface level. You know there’s only one thing they want. And I don’t feel like being used when all I want is to focus on my career.”

I know she worries about me being alone, but I know it won’t be forever. I can’t tell her that I’m trying to enjoy every moment I can get with Dad, because I don’t know how to take time for myself without feeling guilty. I worry if I miss a moment with him and he passes then I’ll live with regret. So, that’s why I give my every waking moment to them. I can worry about myself later.

“That’s a shame. You’re beautiful.”

“You have to say that, I’m your daughter,” I tease.

She reaches across the table to touch my face in a soft stroke. “My very beautiful and very single daughter.”

“Alright I get it,” I say, pulling my head away from her hand with a giggle.

Before I pour myself soup, I remember something. “I brought a new book for you to read. I just finished it and I need you to read it so we can discuss it,” I say, feeling relief now that we put the relationship talk behind us.

Loving fictional men is all I can handle right now.

Mom and I have always shared a love of reading. When I was fourteen, I read my first fantasy novel, and I haven’t been able to stop since then. Now we share books and discuss our thoughts when we finish them. It’s a good distraction. It slows down the chaos of life, giving us a reprieve, even if for just a moment in time, and helps us not dwell too much on Dad’s health.

“Oh good. I finished book one already and I need to know what happens after that cliffhanger,” she replies as she sits down.

“Hey kiddo,” Dad says, wandering out of his room after his nap. He usually naps in the afternoon and wakes at dinnertime. Coming close to me, he lays a kiss on my cheek before moving to pull out his chair at the table.

“Hey, Dad. How are you feeling?” I ask.

We’ve always been close. Growing up, he taught me how to ride my bike, watched every swimming lesson, and signed me up for my first boxing class. He quizzed me for my first spelling exam all the way through my accounting exams in college. Even when he told me he had colon cancer, he did so with a grin, making sure to emphasize how it wouldn’t bring this old man down, because he had too much to do. He's always been a happy and positive man; I can’t recall ever hearing him complain. I’d like to think I got my patience and understanding from him.

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