Page 167 of Promising You

I try to find another way to explain this. “The guy is super rich. To him, $90,000 is like $90 to you and me.”

Ninety thousand dollars? Is that really what the car costs? Ryan knows a lot about cars, so I’m sure he’s right. I knew the car cost a lot, but not that much. I purposely avoided looking up the price online because I didn’t want to know.

“Jade, you can’t accept that.”

“He registered the car to me. It’s mine. I already accepted it.”

“We can’t afford the insurance on a car like that. Or the registration. Or the maintenance. It’ll cost over $100 just to get the oil changed.”

“Mr. Kensington is taking care of all that.”

“That makes evenlesssense.”

“No, it doesn’t. He gave me the car and he knows I can’t afford to keep it if he doesn’t pay for that stuff.”

“And what happens when you’re no longer dating his son?”

“Oh, thanks a lot, Ryan. That’s real nice. You just assume this isn’t going to last?”

It’s already a fear that lingers in the back of my mind, so hearing Ryan say it really pisses me off.

“I’m being realistic. You two are 19. You’re probably not going to stay together forever.”

“Really? So then I guess you and Chloe won’t either.”

“That’s different. I’m 22 and she’s 23. You’re only 19. People mature a lot between 19 and 22.”

He should NOT have said that. You know how there are certain topics that set you off? Push your buttons? Make you so pissed off you can’t think straight? For me, this maturity thing is one of those topics.

“So now you’re saying I’m not mature? Fuck you, Ryan.”

“Jade, stop it. Don’t talk like that.”

“Don’t swear? Like you never swear? Or can only 22-year-olds swear? And by the way, your birthday was a couple weeks ago. You’re barely 22.”

“I didn’t mean you’re not mature. I’m just saying that—”

I’m now beyond angry and I start yelling at him. “For as long as I can remember I had to take care of myself! I was doing my own laundry when I was five, Ryan. Five! Maybe even before then. I can’t remember. I was also making my own meals at that age. Peanut butter sandwiches every day until I learned how to use the microwave. And I took care of my mom for all those years. Did the cooking. Paid the bills. Did the grocery shopping. I was a child taking care of a grown woman! So don’t you ever fucking tell me I’m not mature!”

I face the side window, taking a deep breath to calm down. My phone rings and I pick it up and see that it’s Garret.

“Hi, Garret.”

“Hey, are you on the road again?” He’s in a good mood, which isn’t unusual. He almost always is, which is good, but I can’t be around it right now. I’m too pissed off, and as crazy as it sounds his happy mood is making me more pissed off.

“It’s not a good time. Can I call you back later?”

“Why? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong. I’m just tired and I can’t talk right now.”

“Okay. Call me later then. I love you.”

“I love you, too.” I keep the phone in my hand as I gaze out the side window at the snowy farm fields. As I start to calm down I feel guilty for yelling at Ryan like that. He doesn’t have any idea how close Garret and I have become. He doesn’t know what we’ve been through together, so it’s not surprising he thinks we’ll break up.

Ryan doesn’t talk for the next three and a half hours and I don’t either. He plays some of the cassette tapes I got him for Christmas until we’re just outside Des Moines and can get a radio station to come in again.

“Are we going to end this before we get to the house?” Ryan asks, shutting the radio off.

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