Page 16 of Fake

“No, no.” My mother waves me off. “They want me moving around more. This is nothing but a little bout of dizziness. Doc Morgan says it’s my overactive nervous system trying to keep me safe, and I need to remind myself that I’m already safe.” Mom closes her eyes and takes several measured breaths. I watch as color returns to her cheeks.

“See?” she says, just as I decide to help her back into bed and choose another day for a visit. “All better. I just got back from PT, so I’m a little tired, but I have a massage to look forward to later. And my neurologist will be by after that to discuss my medications and supplements. Every time she tinkers with those, I feel a little better.”

“I should have picked a less busy day for a visit.”

“I can’t tell you how good it feels to be able to have a busy day.” Mom hits me with a smile I haven’t seen in a long time. She stands and shuffles towards the kitchenette, looking pleased as punch. Six months ago, she couldn’t go to the bathroom on her own. A month of dedicated treatment and she’s making me tea.

I was right to secure her place here the moment I accepted Nathan West’s offer, even though I couldn’t afford it yet.

I was less right to negotiate away the money he owes me so he’d send a shitty text, but that’s what I get for drinking bowls of wine with Fallon.

But… I’m resourceful and determined.

Mom won’t lose this momentum. There’s a way to afford the full round of treatment and the second I find it, I’ll snatch it up lickety-split. In the meantime, there’s room on my credit cards and I’m sure I’ll qualify for a loan if we get there.

“Tell me about this meeting.” She fills her tea kettle with filtered water and places it on the stove. “Was it everything you hoped it would be?”

“Yes and no.” I don’t usually keep things from Mom, but I don’t want to tell her my new dream client is rude. She’d worry. Just like if I told her how much it cost for her to be here, she’d worry. And if she knew I was spending money I didn’t already have, she’d worry.

And worrying isn’t good for her.

“That is not the enthusiastic answer I expected. What went wrong?”

“Nothing, nothing. Not really. Benjamin Bancroft is every bit as talented as the magazines made him out to be. And he’s even better looking in person. And so easy to be around. I have no business working with someone like him?—”

Mom holds up a hand. “You do though. You might not have the name yet, but you’re every bit as talented as this guy.”

“I hope that proves true. If he likes working with me, this could really be a jumpstart to my career. Plus, he’s so very, very pretty.”

Nathan West is prettier, whispers a grinning voice in the back of my head.

As long as you like assholes, I reply, then realize part of me must, since I’m the one who brought it up in the first place.

Mom pulls two misshapen mugs out of a cabinet with a sheepish grin. “I made this one in pottery class last week,” she says, pointing to a chunky blue mug with a slight lean to the left. “It’s hideous, but I love it and I swore my next one would be better but…” She lifts a green one that looks like it’s melting. “Maybe I’ll do better next time?”

I take the thing in my hands, laughing as I turn it over. “Does it even hold liquid?”

She snatches it back, eyes wide with good humor. “Of course it holds liquid! Just because it’s not perfect doesn’t mean it’s worthless. Now tell me about this other guy. The one I suspect is the reason you’re not as excited as you should be.”

“He’s not exactly easy to be around.”

“People who can afford designers and architects usually have a chip on their shoulder.”

“He had a full concrete block on that thing. He’s rude, Mom. Just plain rude.”

“Good thing your hot architect makes up for it, huh? Focus on him, on his positivity, and don’t even let the client into your headspace. He’s a means to an end, that’s all.”

I dip my chin, not ready to concede her point. I want to believe in the fairy tale version of Nathan West, the one where he’s good instead of bitter and if I make a snap judgment I’ll miss out on a wonderful connection.

“Learn from my mistakes, Meens,” Mom says with a look that says she knows what I’m thinking. “Life is harsh enough without letting harsh people in. I knew from the get-go that your dad was wrong for me, but I saw this glimmer of goodness in him and focused on that instead of who he really was. Your client? He’s not worth your energy. You give him the time he pays you for and nothing more. Like I said, he’s a means to an end. That’s all.”

“A paycheck,” I reply, hefting my melting green mug.

The most important paycheck I’ve ever earned.

SEVEN

Mina

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