Page 79 of Between the Lines

“It’s kind of underhanded,” I admit. “I don’t know, I mean, they feed me and they put a roof over my head, so it’s not like?—”

“That’s it!” Penelope interjects. “You need to move out.”

That sentiment hits me like a pile of bricks. It’s a novel idea. But…

“It’s not that simple.” I smile sadly. “I don’t have the money saved up to be able to do that yet. I’d need a job that pays better than this, but my dad already said he’s going to force me into working for his company once my contract here runs out, and then?—”

“So, you stay with one of us while you look for a job and get on your feet.”

Penelope shrugs like it’s that simple. I smile, feeling every inch of the desperate pain in the stretch of my cheeks.

“I couldn’t put you guys out. Juliet and Sam have a family, and Lucy just moved in with Aaron, and you?—”

“Have plenty of space.”

Penelope is always so strait-laced. She’s brunt and forward and in your face. But softness rings those four words, offered up to me on a platter made of gold. Like itisthat simple. I gaze around the circle of women, and feel my heart settle into place.

Maybe itcanbe this easy.

Take career advice and guidance from Lucy.

Move in with Penelope until I can make it on my own.

Start a smutty book club with Juliet.

Set out on my own two feet, and peel myself out from the claws that my parents have caged me beneath.

The bell rings—not in time to interrupt an interrogation, but in time to let a weighty decision settle on my chest.

While I teach for the rest of the afternoon, untold stories play in the back of my mind. It’s like I’m Barbie, with a closet full of futures I can try on. The world very well may be at my fingertips.

thirty-three

nathan

It has beentwo weeks since that phone call, which means it has also been two weeks since I’ve had Claire to myself. Putting the brakes on whatever we had started was the right call, but that doesn’t stop the decision from positively eating away at me. I hate the way that my muddled feelings have me acting like a teenager.

Act like a normal teenager.

At that thought, those words splice through me from decades ago. My mother, sitting at my bedside the night before returning to school after being my brother’s donor, had thought them encouraging.

Just try your best to act like a normal teenager, Nathan. Have fun with your friends. Get into a little trouble.

After my parents died and I was left as sole guardian to my brother, I had done exactly the opposite. Now though, it seems like in my quest toavoidbeing a typical teenager, I’m getting the experience years later.

And I positively hate it.

My heart and head are both stuffy, I havejittersfor crying out loud. I can’t sit still. And my mind races with nothing buther.

In my kitchen, making me grilled cheese. Head on my chest,reading to me from my favorite book. Holding me while I slept. Waking beside mewith a smile on her face.

She had been happy to be there. Happy to wake up in my arms. Hadseemedsad to leave so abruptly. So what on earth are we doing?

I shake the thought from my head and set out to do the work I’msupposed tobe doing: Meeting with Joe Petersen. He bounds into my office and squishes his round body into one of my chairs, making himself comfortable.

“What can I help you with today, Mr. Petersen?” I ask, pulling up the meeting request and noticing no notes indicating a reason.

“I’m taking a week off next month. Don told me to talk to you about setting up a sub.”

---