She says his name mockingly, and I laugh because River is the same way over Dean, even if she doesn’t want to admit it half the time.
“Again, moot point. Not sleeping with him. I barely know him.”
Not that it was going to stop me before…
River slides her eyes my way, and something flashes in her gaze that I’m having a hard time deciphering, which hasn’t happened in a long time.
It’s gone as quickly as it came, and I wonder if I imagined it.
“But you are saying yes to him, right?” she questions.
I sigh. “I’ll think about it.”
“Well, you better think hard. We’re down to the wire here.”
Like I need the reminder.
The clock is ticking away. It’s all I hear when I close my eyes at night.
“I know,” I tell her. “I have one other application out. If I don’t hear anything by Friday, I’ll accept.”
It’s a lie, but she doesn’t need to know that.
She seems pleased enough by my answer, a tight-lipped smile pulling at her face. “Okay. Now, let’s get to work. We have about three more boxes to get through before we can close. I want to get home at a decent hour tonight. Dean’s making me chicken Alfredo, and I can’t wait to make fun of him when he inevitably messes it up.”
Me: Can we talk?
With a heavy sigh, I set my phone down next to the stove, then return my attention to the task at hand: spaghetti.
After my major letdown of being rejected again yesterday, I finally stumbled upon some good news.
A new build I applied to previously is extending their leasing…in two months. It’s within the school zone limits and my price range. Assuming my credit and background checks come back good—which I know they will—we’re unofficially in.
This means, if everything goes as planned, I’ll only have to put my pride aside and accept Nolan’s offer for two months.
I check my phone to see if he’s texted back yet.
Nothing.
Dammit.
“Hey, Mom?”
“Hmm?” I say, not looking up from the red sauce I’ve been stirring the past few minutes. I shake more salt into the mixture, then give it a taste.
Almost there. Needs a bit more salt.
Aside from all the great memories I created with Sam, being a stay-at-home mom gave me something else I’m grateful for—the ability to cook a decent meal.
I’m not a chef by any stretch of the imagination, but I know my way around the kitchen well enough. I spent a lot of time in one when Sam was a baby, always trying new recipes I could impress my husband with.
That was back when I thought Patrick and I could make something of our future.
That feeling didn’t last long.
“Should I start packing up my room?”
I drop the spoon into the pot of sauce, and red liquid goes flying onto the stovetop.
“Shit,” I mutter, retrieving the messy spoon and tapping it against the rim of the pot to clean it off. I cup my hand to catch any drips and spin toward the sink. I switch the water on, rinsing it off, and peek over at Sam. His head is bent as he works on his math homework. “What do you mean?”
“They’re starting construction soon, aren’t they?”
“How do you know that?”
He lifts his shoulders. “Katlyn told me.”
“Mr. Dan’s daughter?”
“Yeah. We play Minecraft together. She has leukemia, so she’s on there a lot because she doesn’t have to go to school anymore.”
I didn’t ask Dan what Katlyn’s illness was, but part of me figured it was cancer. It would explain his desperation for financial help. Chemo isn’t cheap.
“Should I pack up my room before I go to Dad’s? Will I have to pack up my PlayStation? Can I still go to the game?”
I sigh.
I haven’t talked to Sam about the move much since I got the first letter. I told him we’d be moving soon because of the sale, but I haven’t brought it up since.
A mistake on my part. It’s his life getting uprooted too, and I should have been more considerate of that. I just didn’t want to burden him with the semantics of everything that comes along with moving. The kid is already aware of how much I struggle to make sure he’s able to take part in other things kids with two active parents can. I didn’t need him to worry about this too.
I shut off the water, setting the spoon back next to the stove, then switch the sauce down to a simmer and cover the pot.
I twist back around to Sam, leaning against the counter until we’re eye level.
“I wanted to talk to you about that…”
He peeks up from his homework. “About the hockey game? I can’t go?”
“No, it’s not about that. You can still go.” He relaxes. “It’s about where we’ll be living.”
“Are we staying with Aunt River and Dean?”
I frown. “No, but we’ll be staying in the same building. You remember Dean’s friend Nolan? The one you played football with?”
He bobs his head up and down. “Yep. I remember Dean hit him in the nuts with the football and he cried.”
Hearing my kid refer to his balls as nuts is not something I was expecting, but I breeze past it. “Well, he recently moved in and happens to need a few roommates.”
“Okay.” He nods, absorbing the news. “Why do we have to stay there?”
“Because we’re on the waiting list for an apartment, but it’s not available for another two months.”
He twists his lips up, considering it. “Will I have my own room like now?”
I nod. “Yep.”
That is what Nolan said, right? Man, I wish he’d text me back already.
“Does Nolan play video games?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Can you find out?”
I chuckle, because of course he’s most concerned about if Nolan plays video games. He’s twelve.
“Yeah, I can find out.”
“Cool.”
“So, you’re good with it?”
He shrugs again. “Yep.”
“Cool,” I repeat back to him. “Now put your homework aside and set the table. Dinner is about ready.”
By some miracle, he doesn’t argue and hops down from the stool at the bar.
My phone buzzes against the counter, and I race to grab it.
I can’t help the grin on my face when I see his name on my phone.
I saved his number under Romeo in a spur-of-the-moment decision.
Romeo: What’s up?
Me: Are those rooms still available?
Romeo: Can we talk on the phone? I hate texting.
My heart rate skyrockets.
Fuck. Did he find a roommate already? Did I blow my chances by dragging my feet?
Romeo: I should have led with, “Yes, they’re still available.”
I breathe a sigh of relief.
Me: Call you around 9? Sitting down to eat.
Romeo: K
A surge of irritation runs through me.
K?
He knows that’s the texting equivalent of Go fuck yourself, right?
Romeo: I probably should have said “Okay” or “Sounds good.”
Romeo: Dean always yells at me for just typing K.