Page 107 of Gambler's Fallacy

She throws a straw wrapper at me, and I chuckle.

We chat a bit more about our food plans, and I’m so relieved at how simple the conversation is that I figure there’s no need to rock the boat. This is fine. She isn’t asking for money, and we’re going to honor our parents and do something fun together as a family.

Connie’s phone buzzes, and she glances down at it. “Oops, sorry, I gotta dash. I’ve got a meeting with another potential TerBaby.”

My cheer fades. “Connie,” I begin, searching for the right words to say. “I really, really think you should stop while you’re ahead. You’re doing okay now, right? We can get you a real—” I catch myself. “Another job.”

Connie frowns. “What? Why are you on about this now? I just told you I got a new woman to join my business. I’m doing fine.”

She’s not doing fine. She’s on a sinking ship, and some part of her has to be aware of that fact. “You know that it doesn’t matter how many women you get to sign up,” I tell her. I don’t want to do this. So badly, I don’t want to do this.

But I think of Seven, of his utter despair when we’d finally cut him off from gambling, and how I wish we’d done it sooner. She has to have at least a little cash, or she’d be asking for help, which means it’s the perfect time for her to try something else.

I wish I thought she would.

Connie glares at me. “I’mfine,” she repeats. “God, did you invite me out for coffee to give me a fucking lecture?”

“No, I didn’t come to lecture you. I came to…” I falter, hating how difficult this is — and hating my past self for not having put my foot down sooner. “Connie, I know you think this is the best way forward, but it’s not. You’re being played, and I can’t keep watching it happen. No matter how many women you con into doing this, it’s never going to matter. There will always need to be more. Bronze tier, silver tier, how many tiers are there? How much money do you have to sink into this before it pays off?”

Her face blanches.

Connie knows. She knows this isn’t sustainable—like the last two schemes weren’t sustainable either.

She reaches for her tote. “You’re such a dick,” she says, clutching the bag to her chest. “I’m finally doing something that’s… that’sworking, being my own boss, making money, and you have to come in here and get allDadin my face. News flash: it’s my own life.”

I flinch, but even though the words hurt, I continue, “It’s not working!” It’s all I can do to keep my voice contained. Now isn’t the time to worry aboutdaddyissues. “If it was, you wouldn’t be worrying about the balance in your bank account right now and your next payment to TerMa.”

It’s a guess, but from the way she’s looking at me, I know I’m right.

“I didn’t ask you,” Connie hisses. “I didn’t say one single fucking thing about you dating that underage, cheatingboy, did I? I wanted today to be a fun day.”

My own expression darkens. “Don’t bring him into this,” I snap. “He has nothing to do with the mistakes I’ve made with you. I’vetried to let you do your own thing, tried to support you a hundred percent, but I can’t keep doing it.Thatis what this is about. Not Seven.”

“Fine!” Connie shouts. Several of the people around us go quiet. “I don’t need your stupid support anyway. You can playfatherto your new boyfriend and go visit the cemetery on your own and bake your own stupid apple pie.” Her eyes well up with tears and she gets up.

Am I playingfatherto Seven?

Does it even matter right now?

I stand up as well. “Connie, please don’t leave with things like this,” I quietly plead with her. “Put that Saturday in your phone, okay? I’ll see you then?”

Connie rubs her eyes with the back of her hand. “Whatever. I have a meeting to get to.”

I grab Connie’s arm when she tries to walk past me. “It’s for your own good,” I plead. “This is a pyramid scheme. An MLM. Whatever you want to call it. It’s ascam.”

“I’d know if it was a scam, Sebby,” Connie hisses. “Now let go of me before I scream in front of all these people.”

She’s mad enough to do it, too.

I release her, and before I can say anything else, she storms off.

Well.

This went about as well as I’d expected.

I yank my phone out of my pocket, sending Seven a text. Maybe I’m only some overbearing asshole father figure, but he doesn’t treat me like one.

Right now, I need that connection.

---