Page 58 of Playboy For Hire

“Fine, if you think you’re so much better than me, you take over.”

I stood up, thrusting the controller at him and taking the phone.

“Aw, I hate playing Mega Man,” Amir complained.

He slid into the spot I’d vacated on the couch as I trudged through the living room and up the stairs. No use having this conversation in front of anyone. Whatever my mom was calling about, it wasn’t going to be pleasant.

I pasted a smile to my face and brought the phone to my ear.

“Hi, Ma. How are you?”

“Well, I’d be better if you answered your phone for once,” she said. “I’ve been calling and calling you. Twenty times now.”

Twenty? Four. But hey, what was the difference?

“I’m sorry, Ma, I was in the other room.”

“I don’t know why you can’t be more available. You know, Christina Davies from down the road talks to her kids every night, and they don’t leave her hanging.”

“I said I’m sorry. I’ll try to do better in the future.”

It wasn’t worth explaining that I didn’t like to pick up because any conversation with my mom immediately turned into a referendum on my failures. That would only invite more criticism.

I smiled again, hoping it would come through in my tone. “Anyway, how are—”

But my mom didn’t even let me finish before she started talking about Jaden Davies, who wassosweet,hecertainly hadn’t abandoned his parents when he moved away from home.

“Why, he lives all the way down in Raleigh, but he came back last week to help repair the fence in their back field. You’re much closer, but you never come home.”

“Ma, I can’t just—”

“And you know Samson Lewis from your sixth-grade class just had his first baby. I saw him and his wife, Shaniah—you remember her? Nancy’s daughter? From the salon? Anyway, I saw them at the gas station and they looked gorgeous. What a beautiful couple.”

“That’s great,” I said, hoping I sounded genuine. “Give them my congratulations next time you see them.”

“Why can’t you tell them yourself? You never come back and see us anymore.”

“Ma, I’ve got soccer.”

That wasn’t the world’s greatest excuse. Soccer was a fall sport. It didn’t take up too much of my time in the spring. But since my parents had barely paid attention to my soccer career thus far, I doubted they realized that.

“I’ve got classes, too,” I added, wanting to strengthen my position. “And work. I can’t uproot my life and—”

“I just don’t understand why you aren’t more appreciative of all we’ve given you. I’m not trying to call names here, but I thinkyou could be a little more grateful.” Shetskedaudibly. “Didn’t you date Shaniah your sophomore year? If you’d stuck around, you could be married with kids by now.”

“We went on two dates. In eighth grade. Then she dumped me for Carson Bancroft.”

“Maybe if you’d tried a little harder—”

“I don’t actually want kids right now,” I protested. “It’s great if Shaniah and Sam do, but that’s not my goal.”

“I wouldn’t mind being a grandmother, I’ll tell you that,” my mom continued, like I hadn’t even spoken. “If only we’d been able to have more kids. But we’ve only got you, and the way you ignore us—”

“Ma,Ma,” I broke in. “Did you call me for an actual reason, or just to tell me how much of a disappointment I am?”

“Well, there’s no need to raise your voice, honey. I know your father wouldn’t like to hear you talking to me like that.”

My father was probably mainlining some crazy conspiracy theorist’s latest YouTube video right now, and wouldn’t come up for air for hours, but I let it go.

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