Page 51 of What About Us
“I picked it up at the pharmacy,” he says, like that isn’t obvious.
I dig my hand into the bag and pull out the paperwork. It’s got my name on it, clear as day. I try to keep the frustration from my voice, but it isn’t working very well. A dull ache builds at the base of my skull. “I see that, but how did you get it?”
He doesn’t answer right away, and then, “I called in a favor.”
“A favor from whom?” I ask, heat rising up my chest, partially from embarrassment that he has once again come to my financial rescue, and because I am angry with myself for not being able to figure this out on my own.
It’s very sweet and just like him to do something like this for me, but that just confuses me more. It’s like a pendulum swing. One day, I’m practically salivating over him, happy that he’s here. And the next, I’m pissed that he’s spending money and taking on a responsibility that isn’t his.
He turns to the fridge and grabs a head of lettuce. He unwraps it before saying, “Erin.”
I huff out a disappointed sigh and grit my teeth. I knew it.
He turns back to me, his expression placating. “And before you get mad, it wasn’t that much.”
Of course, he would say that he’s got plenty of money. “You shouldn’t have done that,” I say through clenched teeth.
He shrugs like it’s no big deal. But it is. I don’t want people—especially not Erin fucking Parker—knowing I’m having financial and medical problems. It’s embarrassing, not to mention, none of her business.
“I figured you needed it, and Erin said she could get your prescription transferred for this month so I could go pick it up.” He flicks a glance in my direction. “Don’t worry, I didn’t tell her anything else.”
“You paying for it says enough,” I argue.
“She doesn’t care who paid for it,” he says, his gaze locked on the jar of mayo he’s opening.
I scoff and look away. I’m grateful to him, but I am so tired of struggling, and he’s always helping me financially. He’s already done enough by giving me the money to open the B&B. I know full well he didn’t want to open a bed-and-breakfast. He did it because he knew that without his help, I couldn’t. And I love him for helping with that, but this? This is different. It’s humiliating. And anger is quickly edging out my gratitude.
“You can’t just throw money at every problem,” I bite out.
There’s hurt in his eyes when his gaze snaps to mine. “The fuck does that mean?”
“You always do this. You always jump in to save me when I never—” I stop before I say something I can’t take back.
He crosses his arms over his chest and lifts his chin at me. “Go on. Just say it.
“Never mind.” I hate how I feel like I’m being reprimanded. Not by him, but by guilt.
“No. What were you going to say?”
“I never asked for your help with this,” I say, trying to keep my voice down.
“No? What was that phone call then?” he asks. “Did you have that woman call me just so I’d know you were sick and probably slipping into a coma so I could, what? Find a new best friend because you don’t take care of yourself? Insulin aside, you don’t eat when you should, you don’t watch your limits with alcohol.” His tone is even, but I can tell by the set of his jaw that he’s pissed.
Well, so am I.
“That’s not— You know what I mean!” I’m so frustrated I could scream. And I hate the way he’s looking at me. Like I just kicked his puppy.
“No, I don’t. I’m going to need you explain it to me,” he says, his face scrunched up in confusion. “You called me. You said you needed me. So, I came. I don’t see what the big deal is.”
I glare up at him from across the island. “Going to Erin? Behind my back. Paying for my insulin? That’s over the line.”
“Which goddamn line, Jameson?” he half yells, dropping his hands against his thighs with a loud slap. “I didn’t know there was some fucked-up, invisible line in our friendship that I can’t cross when you need help. You obviously can’t be trusted to make sure you have enough, or let someone know you’re struggling to get what you need. What was I supposed to do? Just let you go without?”
“I’m a grown woman,” I say, defiantly, but it’s weak at best.
A muscle in his jaw ticks and he gives me a pointed look. “I know that.”
“You can’t just go around helping me all the time,” I say, throwing a hand up in irritation. “I can figure things out on my own.”
