Page 84 of The Love Playbook

“While that’s true, and everything Chris has donehasbeen unexpected, this could mean anything,” I say, waving it around.

“No way. It’s totally about you and Chris. This fortune is spot on. The last thing any of us saw coming were the two of you hooking up.” Brynn grins.

I snort. “We’ll see,” I say, tucking it into my pocket, entirely unconvinced.

“Look! She’s keeping it!” Elizabeth declares, pointing to my jeans. “Sheliiiiikeshim.”

“Shut up,” I say with a laugh while I swat at her hand, and when my phone starts ringing. Brynn lunges for it this time, scooping it up, and immediately her face falls.

“Oh. It’s not Chris,” she says with a frown.

I scoff. “Not every call or text I get is from Chris,” I say, snatching it back out of her hands.

“It’s your mom,” she says at the same time I seeMomflash across the screen, and my stomach sinks.

“Um, I should probably take this,” I say, standing. “I’m just gonna . . .” I motion toward the door as I get off the bed and hurry out of my room, pressing the accept button as I head toward the lobby. “Mom?”

“Charlotte, I screwed up,” she says on a sob, and my already sinking heart plummets to the floor.

I wander out into the lobby and sink down in one of the ugly purple chairs. “What happened?”

“I lost my job.”

I close my eyes, trying to remain calm. “When?”

“Last week.”

My mind veers in a million different directions, settling on the one thought I can’t shake. I knew I should’ve stopped by her place on Sunday, but a part of me just wanted to have fun, to live in the moment instead of worrying about her for a change.

“You never went back to work after I left, did you?” I ask.

Silence.

“Mom?”

I open my eyes, staring at the clock above the wall and wondering how it is that I’m the responsible one out of the two of us when I’m only twenty, and she’s the forty-four-year-old parent. I’m supposed to be the one out partying and sowing my oats and calling her withmyproblems.

“No,” she answers. “I tried, I really did,” she says, her voice cracking over the words. “I got up and got dressed, but I just couldn’t bring myself to go. I even got in the car, but then my chest started hurting and I couldn’t breathe. I thought I might pass out. Everything was spinning and I was lightheaded. I couldn’t drive, Charlotte. My heart was pounding so hard. I thought I might die.”

My chest tightens as the weight of the world settles behind my ribcage, every breath coming in sharp bursts.

“It’s called a panic attack, Mom. Dr. Sherri gave you the tools to fight those. Worst-case scenario, you take some meds and wait an hour to leave. You know how they work. They almost always pass and you’re fine.”

“You don’t understand,” she wails, breaking out into full-on sobbing while I grit my teeth and try to keep from snapping at her.

“So, what have you been doing for the last week?” I ask, even though I know exactly what she’s been doing. It’s what she does any time she falls into a severe depressive episode. She lies on the couch in her robe and stares aimlessly at the TV, alternating between crying and sleeping. If it’s really bad, she never even gets out of bed.

“Never mind,” I say, shaking my head. “That’s irrelevant, but what are you going to do now? You need a job. You need to be productive. Have you been back to see Dr. Sherri like I told you to? I think you should go every day until you start to feel better.”

“I can’t.”

“Why?” I ask, my frustration growing.

“Because I have no money. With no job and no alimony, I have nothing,” she says, her voice thick.

I bring a hand to my forehead, a tension headache blooming and pounding at the front of my skull. Interesting how the timing of Dad’s alimony ending and his new engagement are so closely related.

“So, you have zero income,” I repeat, racking my brain for a solution. “What about unemployment pay? Why were you fired exactly?”

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