Page 18 of The Girl He Loves

Chapter 7

Saturday

I can’t even recallthe last time I came home way too late and snuck in quietly. Before college, maybe?

Dax’s scent still on my body and a smile on my face, I fall into bed and sleep solid, something I rarely do.

Thankfully, my mother and Tyler were none the wiser as to how I spent my night. Though, as Mom stares at me over morning coffee, I once again feel like a teen who did a whole lot of something she shouldn’t have.

“How did last night go?” she says in her sing-song voice.

Tyler’s watching cartoons on the couch, eating frozen waffles. Literally frozen, straight from the freezer. I used to make homemade ones, but he prefers these, so he gets them on weekends for a treat.

“Fine. Josie texted this morning and said we made a lot of money for the charity.”

Mom gives me two thumbs up. “And afterward, did you have fun? You work so hard, sweetheart. I hope you treated yourself.”

I blow on my coffee, a slight smile playing on my lips. “I did treat myself. I had a wonderful time.” And maybe I’ll be good for another two years or less if I can get this criminal record thing worked out. How sad I put so much on hold until after I graduate. As if my life only begins once I have my degree. Or maybe it's because I can't juggle all those balls.

Dax and I separated after two in the morning. We didn’t exchange promises to keep in touch. I made it clear I had no expectations. Our time together was a one-off. I wanted to pat myself on the back for not falling into some fantasy that more could come from sex in the minivan.

“I’m glad,” Mom says. “And so now you can let your father and me treat you. We want to buy you a new dishwasher.”

I set down my mug, a tad too hard, and coffee sloshes over the side. “We’ve had this discussion. I appreciate the offer, but a new dishwasher is a waste of money. It's an issue of parts and labor, and this one can be fixed.” I gesture half-heartedly to my dishwasher.

“Then let us pay for that.”

“Mom,” I say on a sigh. “You already do so much for me with keeping Tyler after school and last night. I can’t continue to mooch off you guys for everything else. I still owe you and Dad for the tires on the van.”

When Justin and I divorced, the first thing my dad said was how he anticipated Tyler and I would need to move in with him and Mom, and if that were to happen, then we could only stay for two years. He would not have a child of his living with him forever. That’s why when Mom offers to pay for something, I know she doesn’t tell Dad. I know it's behind his back, and I love her for wanting to help. But I’m not about to put her in a position to have trouble with my father. Who, by the way, when he loaned me money for tires, made me sign a contract with terms, interest, and a payment plan.

“When you’re out of school and making steady money, then you can make this argument, but right now is when you should take all the help you can get.” Working for Jayne pays better than minimum wage but still lower than an entry-level teacher. Plus, the health insurance with Jayne is costly because she’s a small business. Even though Tyler's covered by his dad's insurance, I am not.

I love my mom and her generous heart. I say, “I’ll take the money from my savings and have the dishwasher fixed if it means that much to you.”

Mom looks horrified. “No, you’ve been saving for over a year. That money is earmarked for your student teaching.”

I smile and put my hand over hers. “Exactly. If the dishwasher was so important, then I would make accommodations for it. But it’s not. When I'm working in my field, then I’ll take care of the dishwasher. It’s just not that important to me right now.”

This was my way of putting the conversation in perspective and not hurting her feelings.

She squeezes my hand. “I want to help as much as I can.”

“I know, and I appreciate it. It’s just me and Ty. We don’t make a lot of dirty dishes,” I say jokingly because my kid is like a dirt gnome. He can dirty up a kitchen, bathroom, or any room in a matter of seconds. He’s a one cup per drink kinda guy, even if the drink is a refill.

My phone rings, catching me off guard. No one calls early in the morning on a weekend unless it's my mother, and she’s sitting right across from me.

The screen tells me it's Jayne calling from the shop.

“Hey,” I say, wondering if I maybe forgot to do something at the store. My job is to log inventory, photograph it, and send the info to the website manager to put online. I also help with setting up the store, scheduling private clients, and logging whatever I can into her accounting books since Jayne sucks at doing that.

“I’m soooo sorry, Heather,” she says in a rush of words.

“For what?”

“Your fella was here. Dax. He was looking for you. Did you tell him you were part owner?”

I groan. “Oh. My. Lord. I’m so sorry—”

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