Page 5 of The Plus One Professional

“It’s been three years. I don’t even think about her anymore,” I lied.

I did think about her, but not in the way I knew Sara would assume if I told her that I did. I thought about how I was so convinced I’d known her. We’d been together since we were in middle school. I thought we’d be together forever. I thought she’d be with me through thick and thin. I’d been wrong.

Thankfully, she’d shown her true colors, and I’d dodged a bullet. I was grateful she’d shown me who she was before I’d got on one knee and committed my life to her.

“I just feel responsible, and I’m so sorry?—”

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for.” I cut her off.

Stress was bad for any auto-immune disease, but it could be catastrophic when you add the fact that Sara had seizures that were brought on by, you guessed it, stress.

“Yes, I do. I’m ruining your twenties.”

“Yeah, and I made yours a real party.”

Sara got custody of me when she was eighteen, and I was twelve. We’d both spent our childhoods in and out of foster care thanks to having two parents who were addicts. If it weren’t for my sister, I would have spent my entire teens in a group home. I owed her everything.

“That was different; I had Carly, too. I was already a mom and married.”

“You’re right. You were a teen mom, a newlywed,andyou took custody of your brother. Like you didn’t have enough on your plate.”

She shook her head and bit the inside of her mouth. “This isn’t fair to you.”

“And your life has been so fair.”

Besides her childhood being shit, Sara had gotten pregnant when she was seventeen. She’d married Peter, her high school sweetheart, and we’d all lived together pretty happily for six years. Then, the month before my eighteenth birthday, Peter was diagnosed with an inoperable brain tumor. A week after Peter’s diagnosis, Sara found out she was pregnant with the twins.

The next year was sort of a blur for me. Peter went downhill fast. He was in the hospital for the last three months of his life and passed away a week before the twins were born. We didn’t really get a chance to breathe before there were two more little people to take care of. Then, six months later, Sara ended up in the emergency room after a seizure.

I should have seen what taking care of the twins was taking out of her, but I’d been trying to help by taking care of my niece Carly, who was six at the time. I noticed that Sara was tired and wasn’t really eating or sleeping, but I just assumed that was normal with twins—and even more so since she was dealing with the grief of losing her husband.

I’ll never forget the day my life changed forever, and I thought I’d lost the most important person to me. After I got off work, I came home with Carly, whom I’d picked up from an afterschool program and found Sara unconscious on the floor. I called 911, and she was rushed to the hospital. She spent two weeks there, while doctors tested her for everything under the sun. It turned out she’d contracted a virus that spread to her brain, and it was causing her seizures. The next year, she was in and out of the hospital. There were countless doctor’s appointments and tests. Finally, we were given answers. She was also diagnosed with RA and lupus.

The medical bills piled up from both her and Peter. She wasn’t able to work anymore, so she was put on disability and on Medicaid. Half the prescriptions and treatments that she needed weren’t covered by her insurance. So, if she had a chance at any quality of life, we had to pay out of pocket.

Which was why my construction job didn’t cut it and I’d started TPOP.

“It doesn’t matter if my life has been fair or not.” She put the basket of clothes she’d just folded on the floor. She winced as she sat back up slowly. “You shouldn’t have to do this, and Iknowthat you are only doing it because of me.” Tears filled her eyes. I had no clue if they were from the physical or emotional pain she was in.

I smiled, hoping she didn’t see just how much I worried about her. “I know, itreallysucks going out with a different woman every week and getting paid for it.”

It actually did, but I would never let Sara know that. I hated having to monetize the only social life I had. It fucked with my head—not that I’d ever let her see that.

She stood and threw her arms around my neck. “You are the best brother in the entire world.”

“I know, right? You hit the little brother jackpot,” I teased as I kissed her on the top of her head.

“I did!” She took a step back, looked me up and down, and then tugged on my tie. “You look good.”

“Thanks.” I glanced down at myself. The clothes I wore were hand-me-downs from our neighbor Arthur Reynolds, who had lived in the building decades longer than the fourteen years we’d been there.

Four years ago, on his eightieth birthday, he decided to spring-clean his life, which included paring down his wardrobe. Arthur, who was regularly mistaken for actor Billy Dee Williams, had been quite the dresser in his day. He owned bespoke suits from Armani, Ralph Lauren, Hugo Boss, Tom Ford, Yves Saint Laurent, Burberry, and more.

I was lucky enough to be the same height and measurements as him, and I’d inherited not only his vast collection of suits, ties, shirts, and shoes, but also most of his casual wear. As a twenty-year-old, color-blind construction worker my wardrobe had only consisted of white T-shirts, jeans, work boots, sweats, basketball shorts, and athletic shoes.

If it weren’t for Arthur’s wardrobe, I don’t think I would have had the confidence to accept the first date with my co-worker, much less start my business. Arthur was an unwitting investor in TPOP.

“So, do you think you’ll seehertoday?” Sara asked as she sat back down and sipped her green sludge.

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