That’s it!
I reach into my drawer and pull out Jake’s letter. Turning it over, I smile as I read the return address. I’ll buy the kid something. If that doesn’t scream selfless, then I don’t know what will.
Ten minutes later, a brand new blue racing bike is on its way to Jake, and I’m pretty damn proud of myself. I made sure to order all the extras available: a matching helmet, lock, stand, pump, backpack, and drink bottle.
He is going to fucking love it.
Finally, I log onto a US-based flower delivery service and order Scarlett a bunch of red roses. There: three totally unselfish things done. I turn off my light and close my eyes.
It’s hard work being nice.
**
“A bike?”
She sounds annoyed. Why does she sound annoyed? It’s a freaking awesome present.
“It was one of my good deeds,” I say defensively.
“Yeah, great idea. Buy the kid with a bad set of lungs a bike he can’t freaking use.”
Oh shit.
“And not only that,” she continues. “Flowers? You seriously think I want you to buy me flowers? Why did you automatically associate being selfless with money? You think you can buy everyone off? I should have known,” she laughs. “I can’t wait to hear what your other good deed was.”
“Yeah? And what was your selfish act, Ms Up-On-Her-Freaking-High-Horse?” I challenge her, annoyed at how ungrateful she is being. So the bike was a bad idea, but the intent was there.
“I got a haircut.” Her tone is defensive, and it should be because it was a piss-weak attempt at being selfish.
“A haircut?” I laugh. “Wow, you really splurged there. The guilt must be consuming you.”
“Hey, I’ll have you know a haircut is a huge thing for me,” she declares. “I’ve cut my own hair since I was twenty-one. And another thing: when in the hell did a haircut become so Goddamned expensive?”
“What happened when you were twenty-one? Was that when Jake was born?” I ask. She doesn’t like talking about herself, so I take whatever chance I get to find out more about her. Why, I’m not exactly sure yet. I keep telling myself that I’m so invested in them because I’m bored.
“No. That’s when my mom died,” she says quietly. “I had Jake when I was sixteen.” All of a sudden she laughs. “Why am I even telling you all this?”
“Why not?” I say. I like that she’s opening up to me. It’s like we are actually beginning to develop a friendship or something. “Seems like you need someone to talk to.”
“So what? You’re offering to be my Therapist now?” she snorts. “Because that’s what I need. I need that like my son needs a bike.”
“No, I’m offering to be your friend.”
“Who says I need friends?” she mutters.
“Maybe I’m the one who needs a friend. I’m lying on my arse doing nothing. Talking to you kind of passes the time.”
“Well, I guess you’re not eating too far into my busy schedule,” she grumbles. “I’m a busy woman, you know.” She sighs and then clears her throat. “Okay, Ryder. I’ll give you another chance. I want you to do something for someone else without using your money. Do that, and we can be friends.”
“Does that mean you’ll let me speak to Jake, too?”
“Don’t push it,” she warns, laughing.
“Fine. So what am I supposed to do not using money?” I mutter. To me it seems silly: I have money, so why not use it to spoil other people?
“People manage it every day, Ryder. I’m sure you’ll think of something. Do something nice for your mother,” she suggests.
“God, don’t mention my mother,” I groan, covering my face with my hand. I immediately regret saying anything.