Page 60 of Employing Patience

Teenagers. I pull up Amelia’s number and call her instead.

“Hey, Joey, I’m getting ready for class, can I call you after?”

“No, actually. I’m kinda freaking out.”

Unlike Hannah, Amelia stops what she’s doing. “Why? What happened?”

“Did you order a bunch of shit for the house?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Furniture and … and food.”

“No …” Her tone turns cautious. “What’s happened?”

I grab a container of what looks like tarts from the fridge and open it. They smell goddamn heavenly, and I bite right into it before answering. Holy shit. “Holy shit.”

“Holy shit what? Joey, are you high?”

“I might be.”

At her stunned silence, I laugh.

“Sorry, I’ve been sick the last few days, and I’ve just woken up to someone having Mary fucking Poppins-ed the house, and there’s food everywhere, and now I’m kinda spinning out, but this tart tastes amazing.”

“I am so confused …”

“So you didn’t do all of this?”

“No. Listen … is everything okay at home? I’ve tried calling Hannah a few times, but she’s always busy, and now … I’ve gotta be honest. All this talk about furniture and food …”

“We’re fine,” I say, immediately shutting down her worries.

“I know that me losing that meals scholarship was a hit, but I’ve applied for a whole bunch of other ones, and if you need me to pick up a part-time job, or—”

“No. I told you, I’ve got everything covered.”

“If … if you’re sure.”

“Promise. I love you. Now, get to class.”

“Love you too.”

We hang up, and even though I’m more confused than ever, I push the curiosity aside. I make a coffee and take the container of tarts over to the new table, where I demolish every single one of them.

* * *

I’m still feeling like dogshit when my pay hits my account later. Instead of relief at having money again, all it does is remind me of all the things I have to pay for. The wad of bills waiting in the mailbox, rent, car repayments. I’m tempted to close out of my banking app and pretend like none of it exists.

Unfortunately, denial is not the magical solution to make everything go away. Go figure. A good chunk of my money goes straight to Amelia so she doesn’t realize we’re anything but fine; then, once I’ve taken out rent, I have enough to scrape together for the bare minimum of repayments.

I sigh as I transfer Amelia money for board and food, then grab my keys and head out. Only when I reach the mailbox to eenie-meanie-miney-mo my utilities, there’s nothing there. I open the lid to make doubly sure, and nope. Not one overdue notice to be found.

I stand there staring, like they’ll somehow show up if I wait long enough, but I’m so fucking confused. Hannah wouldn’t have taken them inside. Firstly, the place is so damn clean I would have spotted them immediately, but second, she’s reached a point where she doesn’t see anything she doesn’t want to.

This prickling awareness creeps down the back of my neck. Whoever fixed up my house has done something with those bills, and if it’s what I think they’ve done …

I jog back inside, grab an old bill from the drawer, and dial the number listed. My gut is a riot of nerves while I wait on hold, trying not to hope but way too past that point, so if I’m wrong, I’ll probably cry.

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