Page 83 of What's Left of Us

I’m almost tempted to correct him and say she was atemporary apartment sitterlike she insisted but swallow the words.

“Plus, I’ve got sisters,” he points out. “And they know how all that shit works. If one of their boyfriends asked for their hand without a ring, I wouldn’t hear the goddamn end of it in the family group chat. Most women don’t settle without at least a carat and some gold. Your dick game must be top-notch for her to marry you without anything.”

I know our circumstances are a far cry from normal, but she’s still a woman. Was she disappointed when I didn’t try getting her one?

Choosing not to acknowledge his comment about my dick game, I say, “I didn’t have the money for one.”

I want Georgia to feel secure. Cared for. I’ve done what I can to make her comfortable under the budget I’m working with. Her job doesn’t offer her much, so it isn’t like our combined incomes are astronomical. But we’ve managed to save over the last year. Not a lot, but some.

“It’s got to be tough knowing what Del Rossi is pulling in,” Conklin sympathizes. “But look at it this way, man. Your girl choseyou. Not your money. Not her family’s money. If I were you, I’d be on cloud nine knowing that.”

At the end of the day, Georgia didn’t have to tell me yes. She could have walked away—could have gone back to her father like he wanted. I know I didn’t force her into this. But her other options were lacking.

So, maybe a part of me does feel good that she chose me, regardless of what I can or can’t offer her. The other part of me doesn’t want to hold on to hope that she feels the same way I do in case this is all circumstantial to her.

I stare at the ground, unsure of how to feel.

Because as each day goes by, Georgia somehow claims another piece of me. Whenever I come home to a warm meal after a long day or get handed a lunchbox with food so I can save money on my shift, another chunk of my heart gets tucked away in her back pocket. She buys my favorite red apples because she knows I don’t like them too sweet or too sour. She keeps grapefruit juice in the fridge—the pink kind, not the yellow—because she found out it was the only juice I’ve preferred since I was a kid.

Georgia doesn’t know it, but I’ve been falling for her a little every day.

Maybe it’s time I showed her.

Conklin smacks my shoulder to regain my attention. “You want me to look into this some more? I can do some research. Pull some strings and figure out who’s employing Del Rossi’s company.”

I should tell him no.

Tell him it doesn’t matter.

Because Georgia chosemenot her father.

Not the Carbones.

Not the lifestyle she walked away from.

But that’s not what I say. “Yeah. Let me know what you find.”

Because at the end of the day, my gut tells me never to be too safe.

*

The apartment isdark when I get home five and a half hours after my shift ends. I told Georgia not to wait up for me when a vehicle pursuit led to an arrest involving twenty-five grams of cocaine being taken from the car. If second shift hadn’t helped with paperwork, I’d probably still be there.

Georgia is tucked in bed with the lamp still on and a paperback draped over her chest that she must have fallen asleep reading. She’s propped up against two pillows, her head slumped slightly, and the softest snores indicating she’s probably been out for a while.

Slowly creeping in, I grab the book from her and put her favorite bookmark in it that I bought her from a local indie bookshop. It has a yellow labrador on it with its tongue hanging out that says “you pawsed here” in bold lettering.

She told me the Del Rossis never let her have pets because they were too dirty, but she’d always wanted a puppy. I couldn’t get her a dog, so I told her the bookmark would be a baby step toward the future.

A promise.

Even a small one.

Her eyelids flutter awake, her head groggily lifting when I set the book on the nightstand. “You’re home,” she whispers, a tired smile gracing me.

I smile, sitting on the edge of the mattress beside her. “Sorry I’m late.”

She sits up. “It’s okay. Did you catch the person who ran?”

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