Nate: You could, but then I’d go all caveman again convincing you. Bad idea.
This man! What is he thinking?
Alice: You’re a bad man, telling me things like this.
Nate: Hey, my ego’s still recovering from finding out you’re immune to my charms already.
Alice: Fine, pick me up. But you’re not allowed to overstep friendship boundaries the entire evening.
Nate: Promise.
As I tuck my phone away in my bag, focusing on helping Mark, I try hard not to acknowledge that the chances of Nate sticking to his word are zero. I try even harder not to admit I’m looking forward to him breaking his promise.
Chapter Four
Nate
“Answer the phone, Mother.” I glance at the digital time display on my car’s dashboard: eight thirty in the morning, Thursday. I’ve messed up our call time on a few occasions while traveling—time zone differences are a pain in the ass. But I’m one hundred percent sure we scheduled a call for right now. Maybe she has a shift and forgot to tell me? Mom works as a nurse at the local hospital in the small town where she moved a few years ago. She lives three hours away from San Francisco and I rarely see her, though I’m determined to pay her a visit before moving to London.
“Nate, hi!” she answers at long last, her voice echoing through the car’s speaker system. “Are you driving? It’s not safe to talk while you’re driving. You need both hands on the wheel.”
“I’m using Bluetooth, Mother. Both hands are safely on the wheel.”
“Hmm….” She sounds unconvinced. My mother is one of those who doesn’t trust technology too much. I’ve tried to talk her into using Skype, or to let me buy her a phone with a camera so we could see each other while talking, but I’ve yet to win that fight.
“What have you been up to?”
“Same old, same old. Heading to the pet shop to start my first shift.”
It takes me a second to put two and two together. “Wait, you got a second job?”
“Just part-time.”
Worry nags at me. My mother’s sixty-seven. Yes, she’s full of energy, but a part-time job at a pet shop on top of her shifts as a nurse?
“I get bored between shifts at the hospital.”
I’m not buying this explanation. “Are you having problems with the mortgage again? You know I can help. I can pay your entire debt, Mom.”
“We’re not having this conversation again,” she says sternly, but damn if I’m backing down, even if this conversation will put her on edge.
During my childhood and teen years, she was always on edge. She and my father were constantly fighting. She remarried one year after divorcing my father, but she fought just as much with her new husband. She tried her best to be a good mother, but she was stretching herself thin. I chose to spend most of my time outside the house to avoid all the yelling. It’s how I ended up spending so much time with the Bennetts.
Mom and I grew apart and never quite managed to repair that bridge, but we’ve both been trying, especially since she divorced her second husband five years ago. She’s been much calmer since too, except when talking about my father or her financial issues.
“I’m not bringing in seven figures a year and letting you work two jobs just to afford your house. I can help. I want to help.”
“It’s not a child’s duty to pay for their parents’ mistakes.”
Oh man, oh man, here she goes again. I once got to the bottom of why she doesn’t want me buying her house. She said she wouldn’t be having this problem if she still had a husband because the mortgage would be split in two. She keeps punishing herself for having not one but two failed marriages, and I have no idea how to help her. It frustrates me to no end.
“That’s not what it is. But we’re family. Family helps each other out.”
“Do you give your father money?”
I groan. If I tell her yes, she’ll just say Dad is a leper, which he’s not. My father remarried too, finding a good woman who had kids from her previous marriage. I never really fit in his new family, but we have a cordial relationship. He never asked me for money though.
If I tell this to Mom, she’ll flat-out refuse to be the family member who can’t take care of herself. Even after all these years, my parents can’t be in the same room without starting a fight. Two years ago, I received an award and invited both my parents to the fancy dinner party. Dad came with his family, and one hour into the dinner, all hell broke loose. Before leaving, Dad said that when I get married, I’d better throw two weddings and invite them separately.