Page 29 of Loaded

“Do you know what enabling is?”

His frown deepens.

“It took me a lot of therapy to learn that when I give my mother money, I’m enabling the behaviors that led to her asking me for money. I thought I was helping, but it does at least as much harm as it does good. It only took a half dozen times of me refusing point blank and telling her I’d only give her food before she quit asking me.”

“My parents aren’t junkies.” He hops out of the car.

He’s out talking to Emerson when I finish fixing the toilet handle. I wash my hands—their soap is mostly donated I know, but the bubble gum smell is annoying—and head back to the front. “I survived the gauntlet,” I say. “Your ploys didn’t work.”

“What?” Elizabeth doesn’t quite get my humor yet.

“I passed through the portal of puppies, and I’m leaving without one.”

“You’re leaving?” Easton asks.

I nod.

“Oh. Well.”

“Hey, what happened with that jingle contest?” Emerson asks.

I want to kick him.

“What jingle contest?” Easton asks.

“Bea plays piano like. . .well, like the Piano Guys or something. She’s amazing, and she’s always making up songs, too. She entered this jingle contest, or at least, she was going to.”

“I did,” I say.

“And?” Emerson asks. “When do you hear back?”

“I made it to the finals,” I say softly. “It’s on Tuesday.”

“Yes!” Emerson wraps me in a bear hug. “That’s amazing, B.”

“I mean, there are five of us, and we have to perform the jingle ourselves for a live audience so they can choose the winner.” I tilt my head and widen my eyes. He knows why that’s not great for me.

“Oh, shoot.” Emerson grimaces. “I’m sorry.”

“Why?” Easton asks.

“I can’t sing well, for one,” I say. “But also, I hate performing. I’m good at writing music, not at putting on a show.”

“Can you have someone else do it for you?” Easton asks.

“Are you offering?” I ask.

“Oh, heavens no,” he says. “I sound like the seagull inThe Little Mermaid.”

“He actually does,” Elizabeth says. “His voice is an assault.”

“Bea’s not bad,” Emerson says. “It’s just that since she was a music major, she always compares herself to these opera quality singers.”

“I’d love to come watch and support you,” Easton says.

“Me too,” Emerson says. “What time is it?”

“It’s at seven at night,” I say. “But I don’t think we can take an audience.”

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