Page 20 of Filthy Little Secret

He takes a bite of the toast.

“Well,” I say. “If you want to finish up with that, I can give you a ride back to your place.”

“I’ll Uber,” he says quickly, the toast still in his mouth. He chews and swallows. “I don’t want to bother you any more than I already have. Just give me the clothes, and I’ll take them with me.”

“I mean, you don’t have to. I can—”

“No, really. I insist. It’s the least I can do after what you did for me last night.”

His gaze is filled with appreciation—appreciation I don’t deserve. If I was anyone else—any of his real friends—he wouldn’t think twice about them helping. It’s because I’m trash that he’s surprised. Because he expects me to be this big fucking asshole—the asshole I’m sure Keith has led him to believe that I am. Rightfully so, I guess.

I leave him to eat his breakfast and head back into the kitchen. I work on another omelet when the door to Nanna’s room opens, and she heads in from the hall. In her flower-print pajamas, she looks tired. She’s not wearing one of her wigs, so I can see the ratty gray strands that are starting to come in again.

“You want me to put on your tea?” I ask as she heads into the kitchen.

She shakes her head. “Don’t be ridiculous. It’s a Keurig. Not like you have to put on a kettle.”

She fixes herself a cup before sitting at the kitchen table, where I’ve already set aside the entertainment section so she can read the comics and horoscopes.

“Oh, my little angel,” she says. “I’m gonna need you around when I’m senile.”

I chuckle. “Whatever. We’ve got a long time before we gotta worry about that. I’m not taking care of your ass when you get old.”

She laughs. “If I’m not old yet, then I wonder what I am.”

As I finish her omelet, I move it over to a plate with my spatula.

“I hear seventy-six is the new sixty-two,” I tease as I deliver it to her.

“Such excellent customer service at this fine restaurant,” she says, her smile stressing the lines in her wrinkled face—a face that’s aged not just because of her years, but because of the disease we worked so hard to treat—the one we hope won’t return.

She inspects the plate. “You didn’t put any jalapeños in it, did you?” she asks.

“I never put jalapeños in it. You eat those when you steal mine.”

A sly expression twists across her face as she opens the paper to the comics.

“Well, I know who won’t be getting a tip from me this morning. And I might just leave a Yelp review about this place, too.”

I roll my eyes.

I hear the door to my room open and soon Mark comes out, carrying his empty plate. As he steps through the entryway into the kitchen, his eyes dart to Nanna.

“Nanna, this is Mark.”

She smiles, exposing her dentures.

“Hi, Mark. Nice to meet you. Aren’t you a cutie?”

She winks.

“Nanna’s an incorrigible flirt,” I say.

He smiles, but I can tell he’s a little uneasy.

“Don’t worry. She meets all my tricks.”

“Yes, Mark,” she says. “Don’t be uncomfortable. It’s not like you came in here without any pants on. And trust me, that happens.”

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