Page 101 of Between the Lines

“It’s just that some of the guys had plans in the city for the holidays, and I’m trying to log as many hours at the hospital as possible. Christmas is hectic, and a good opportunity to learn. Plus, I just came home for Thanksgiving. I might be able to pick up some extra shifts?—”

“I understand.” I cut him off before he can pile on any guilt.

He deserves this. To have the life I was never allowed. He deserves all the good things life has to offer him. Especially after I ripped our family apart.

“We can get together afterwards, when things slow down for you.”

“Okay. Thanks, Nate.”

I cannot stand the remorse that tinges his words. All of the regret in our world should be onmyshoulders. We hang up, and I blow through the email I’d been in the middle of sending before pulling up my demons that circle me fresh from that phone call.

Bank statements. The taxes on my parents’ house that I took on. The status of my inheritance that has been collecting dust and interest since I turned eighteen. Combined with my monthly pay stubs and my own bills, I spend about fifteen minutes crunching numbers. Numbers that I know by heart now.

I can’t continue to pay the property taxes on my parents’ million-dollar home, no matter the pay increase I gained by stepping in as an administrator. I don’t know where I got off thinking that picking up a few basketball games here and there would cover anything. It was a fruitless thought.

Sell the house, my subconscious whispers.It’s a mausoleum anyway.

Use your inheritance to keep it for Cal, the other side argues.You don’t deserve it anyway.

I’ve considered it time and time again. Usingmycut of the inheritance that is left over after paying for my education, to pay for the house. It would lift the boulder from my chest.

I’ve also debatedsellingthe house. The multi-million-dollar estate that at one point housed four people more than comfortably, that now stands like a tomb, because I try my best to not be there.

Until recently.

Because Claire has been inside that tomb and has filled it with life.

And just today, Claire told me how much shelovesthat house.

I can’t sell it. Can’t take something else from her. Not when she feels so lost. Not when she’s working so hard to find herself.

But in the same breath, the property taxes are nearing on drowning me. Even with my dad’s hefty life insurance policy invested just right and only taken out for such things. Even with my administrator pay bump.

I stare at the alphabet soup before me, willing the numbers to make sense, to give me an answer, beforetheydrown me.

forty-two

claire

“Nobody move,”Penelope whispers. “I’m recording this for TikTok.”

We all sit breathless as Hope’s head hangs heavy against the tray of her bouncer. She appears dead to the world, but all of a sudden, her head lifts and she begins to bounce again. Her eyes are half lidded, and she does it in a stupor while the rest of us bite our tongues and hold in our giggles.

She is bouncing in her sleep. This has been going on for the past ten minutes.

“Home girl can’t hang,” Penelope whispers, her phone still pointed at Hope.

Finally, she knocks all the way out, and after she’s asleep for a solid two minutes, Juliet crosses her living room—a combat zone of baby toys and charcuterie snacks—to lift her sleeping daughter.

“I’ll be right back,” she whispers. As soon as she’s gone, we all exhale, laughing silently despite the fact that Hope is now out of earshot.

With Lucy and Juliet’s men at a weekend coaching conference in the city, we decided to have a girls’ night. Juliet sent Mason to hang out with his grandparents, and we’ve been snacking on junk foodand dishing about our favorite books all night—in between planning for my future.

“Still a toss up?” Lucy asks me, reaching for the last sugar cookie.

“I think I’m leaning toward social work.”

The moment I say it, something clicks into place inside me, and a weight seems to balloon out of me.

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