Enemy Dearest

Mona wears pale yellow scrubs and carries an olive green duffel bag with a medical cross on one side and the nursing company’s logo on the other. A stack of booklets and paperwork rests under one arm.

“Lovely to meet you, Sheridan.” Mona offers a handshake, which is warm and soft, and she scrunches her shoulders when she smiles. Her chestnut hair is streaked with silver and she smells faintly of fabric softener and brown sugar.

I love her already.

“Mama’s in the living room,” I say.

She steps out of her blue Crocs and follows me to the living room, where Mama is set up in the easy chair. “You can have a seat anywhere you’d like.”

Not that we’ve got many options. We have a sofa and a chair. And the chair’s already taken.

For the hour that follows, I tell her all about Mama’s needs. How they fluctuate depending on the day. Some days she doesn’t need nor want help with anything, other days she can hardly get out of bed on her own. When we’re done, I give her a quick tour of the house, finishing in the kitchen by the medicine cabinet.

“This is Mama’s medicine schedule.” I point to the list on the fridge. “I gave it to the person at your agency when we spoke on the phone the other day, but it’s always here for easy reference.”

“Wonderful,” she says, rifling through the paperwork in her arms. “I actually have a few things for you as well. This is a magnet with our on-call and emergency information. Here’s my card and a few spares in case you want to give them to friends, neighbors, or family members. Oh, and I have some paperwork that needs to be signed.”

“I thought I already signed everything? A couple days ago? With the administrator?”

“Oh, this is for billing. Apparently the guarantor is a non-family member, so they wanted to have this special form on file. It’s a formality.” She places the sheet on the counter and hands me a pen, and I pray that Mama heard none of what she just said.

I go over the paperwork, signing on the lines and verifying that August Monreaux is responsible for any and all payments but that my family has authorized services. But when I get to the bottom, the date next to his name seems … off.

Some quick mental math, and I realize the date shown would’ve been two days before we first had sex.

“What does this date mean?” I point to the bottom of the paper.

She turns it toward herself. “Oh. That’s the date the contract was initiated.”

“Is this correct?”

Mona’s lips spread into a tender smile. “I’m quite certain, but I’m happy to double check for you.”

I’m about to tell her it isn’t necessary when I’m distracted by the other date—the end-of-services date.

“Does that … does that say four years from now?” I ask.

“It sure does. It looks like your guarantor has pre-paid for forty-eight months of services.”

I take a seat at the table, attempting to wrap my head around this. Forty-eight months would cover all of Mama’s needs until I’m able to graduate with my bachelor’s in nursing.

Not to mention he dropped well over a hundred grand on this—before I’d even slept with him.

Why didn’t he tell me this?

Warmth and fullness floods my chest, filling it to an invisible brim—only to be replaced with a dark, sinking sensation that anchors me into place and steals all the beauty from this moment.

He was falling for me long before I realized it.

Maybe even before he realized it, too.

“Everything okay?” Mona places her hand over mine. “You seem a bit dazed. I know this can be a little overwhelming at first. It’s a big change.”

“Yeah, sorry.” I force a smile. “I was just lost in thought.”

“If you want to look everything over, I’ll go check on your mother. If you have any questions, you just let me know, okay?”

“Perfect. And if you don’t mind, please don’t mention any billing matters to Mama. It wouldn’t do any good for her to worry about it.”

“Not a problem.”

Mona heads to the living room, and a second later, their voices trail into the kitchen as they make small talk. Sliding my phone from my pocket, I snap a picture of the contract and text it to August.

ME: You’re truly amazing. Just thought you should know that.

ENEMY DEAREST: So before I was crazy and insane … but now I’m amazing? Which is it, Rose girl?

ME: You’re kind of … everything … all rolled into one.

ENEMY DEAREST: A good thing, I hope.

If only it weren’t—it would make it a million times easier to walk away before this explodes in our faces … because it’s only a matter of time.

Good things never last, especially when they weren’t supposed to happen in the first place.

Chapter Twenty-Nine