Page 21 of The Broker

When my parents checked my grades, it was the first time they truly looked disappointed in me. It was such a strange, uncomfortable feeling that I panicked. I swore to them it was a fluke. Next year would be better, I promised.

My parents reluctantly agreed but cautioned me against spending too much time with the new boyfriend. I agreed that when the summer was over, I’d buckle down and get my college career back on track.

I couldn’t see it then, but the thing that attracted me the most to Zach—besides his looks—was how unserious he was. Sure, he had an okay job and a decent apartment, but I ignored all the red flags waving right in my face.

It wasn’t right that a thirty-year-old guy wanted to spend every weekend hanging out at his old college. Or how he was so comfortable dating a girl who was eight years younger than him and was at a totally different stage of her life. I didn’t see that I was just a way for him to relive his college glory days.

The love I had for him was blinding.

My parents weren’t nearly as fooled. My dad tried to hide his unease with my much older boyfriend, and of course my mom deferred to whatever my dad did, but they knew how wrapped up in him I’d become. It was clear I hung on his every word, and they sensed my participation in school was suffering because of it.

Over the fall, my father’s passive aggressive statements about the age difference grew louder and more direct, but I brushed him off.

The first fight we ever had came after my dad’s stern warning. If I failed out of school, I was told, there’d be no more chances. There’d also be no more campus apartment, no more car, and no more credit card.

Long overdue tough love, my dad had announced. He threatened I’d be on my own—but this felt hollow. A bluff.

I was certain he didn’t mean it, not really.

At that point, I’d sunk so much into Zach, it was too late. I was spending nearly every night at his apartment anyway. In the mornings, he’d go to work, and I’d tidy up the apartment, run his errands for him, then spend the day making TikTok videos instead of going to class.

I’d been so fucking stupid thinking he loved me, it was embarrassing. I cringed now at the idea I’d been invaluable to him.

The truth was I’d become Zach’s bang maid.

When I officially failed out of school, I put off telling my parents for as long as possible. I made up excuses, like my professors were slow to put my final scores in, or that the school’s website kept erroring out when I tried to look up my grades. My panic and shame were so intense, I could barely breathe.

And when I couldn’t avoid it any longer, I did something really,reallystupid.

I used my credit card, the one my parents paid for and said was only for emergencies, to book me and Zach an expensive trip to Hawaii.

They didn’t find out until we landed in Honolulu, and my father was so angry, he threatened to get on the next flight out and come get me. I dug in, refusing to tell him where we were, and I justified it to myself saying I needed the escape. More importantly, I needed the romantic trip to sweeten Zach up, because at the end of it I’d have to ask if I could move in with him.

When we went to check out of the hotel, my credit card was declined, and Zach was so pissed he had to pay for it that he barely said two words to me during either of the long flights home.

My parents were waiting for me at my apartment.

I’d never had my father’s harsh tone directed at me. “You have two choices, young lady,” he’d said. “Leave him and come home, where we can work through this.” He’d crossed his arms over his chest and glared at my boyfriend, like Zach was the cause of all this. “Or stay with him, and we’re done financially supporting you.”

“Come on, man,” Zach scoffed. “She’s an adult.”

Which was ironic because my boyfriend never treated me like one.

But how could I choose anything other than him? He was my whole world, plus walking away meant I’d have to admit I’d made a mistake and face consequences. It was too scary to do anything but stay.

And it broke my father’s fucking heart.

The guilt it caused was so crushing, my knees went weak and I’d struggled to stay upright as my parents left.

I moved in with Zach the following afternoon, but he made it clear that this was his space and notours. He was doing me an enormous favor and reminded me of it every chance he got. There was nothing I could do. I had nowhere else to go because my father had paid to break the lease on my apartment.

Surely, he’d done it to force me to come home, but I told myself I didn’t care. I was an adult and could make it on my own, I lied to myself. I refused to think about the damage I had caused because it was too shameful. Too painful.

By February, less than two months after moving in, the cracks in my relationship began to form. Once we hit March, they grew too big to ignore. Zach was frustrated all the time, upset that I didn’t look harder for a job, especially because he didn’t make enough to support us both.

He didn’t care I was slipping into depression.

“Stop feeling sorry for yourself,” he snapped one evening after he came home from work and discovered me watchingNetflix. “You did this. You made this choice, and you forced it on me.”

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