Page 97 of Read Me (Forget the Past 2)

My mother though, she’s become a genius with numbers. Mainly out of necessity.

“Okay, Mom. This is me serious. Why do you think this is shady?”

“Well, because you’re having me look at this man.” She holds up a document so she can examine it through her adorable sparkly blue reading glasses. “Malcolm Allemand. You’re having me look at his bills. And there is some very personal information here.”

“I know that. But we’ve had permission from a family member.” After I essentially wrestled it out of him. “They’re a friend. And it’s not like I’m asking you to do something bad with this info. We’re trying to help.”

“But help who? Why are you bringing this to me?”

“Because, Mom.” I take her hand in mine, meeting her gaze over her eyewear. “We know firsthand the anxiety and fear, and honestly, the embarrassment, that comes with this level of debt.”

The corners of her mouth pinch, and she stares off to the side. “We do.”

“But more than that, you figured out a way out of it. You are amazing, and intelligent, and you had me to worry about, so you clawed your way out of that hole for both of us.”

“You make me sound better than I am.”

“No. If anything, I’m underselling you.”

Suddenly, I’m overwhelmed with memories of the time in my life where our mailbox was full of final notices. The weeks my mother and I went to a food pantry so we could afford our electric bill and still have something to eat. And through it all, how she found ways to show me love and support when she was probably battling a descent into depression.

On instinct, I lean forward to wrap her in a tight hug.

“Please, Mom,” I whisper into her shoulder. “I think he’s drowning in this and doesn’t know how to ask for help. My friend wants to, but they’re not sure where to start.” I sit back so I can look at her. “All I’m asking is you bring some order to the chaos. Tell us how much is owed. What should be paid first. What’s the minimum they have to pay to keep this from getting any worse?”

She chews on the corner of her lip, then sucks in a bracing breath. “Fine. I can do that.” Another piece of paper goes into another pile. “I hope you’re not very close with this friend.”

Close is a relative term. “Why’s that?”

In her neat script, my mother makes a note on a legal pad beside her elbow. “I’m not sure I’d be able to face this Malcolm Allemand, knowing that I’d riffled through all of his private information.”

“No. Don’t worry. I don’t see you meeting him.” Not Mr. Allemand. Not even Cole.

When he dropped me off yesterday, I didn’t invite him inside. Guilt pinches at my nerves, but I stifled the feeling, excusing my actions by reasoning there was no point for him and my mother to interact.

That would only happen if Cole and I were actually dating. Like, for the long term.

I know what’s going on between us can’t be called a fling anymore. Not after meeting his friends and family. But it’s still not a relationship. Because that would mean putting faith in Cole. Trusting him not to hurt me.

And I still know what a charming bad boy looks like when I see one.

If my mom had had the same sense that I do, we wouldn’t have had to learn about the fear of debt the hard way.

But even the most intelligent women can be fooled.

So Cole and I, we’re together. For now.

And one day we won’t be. And I’ll be the one to choose that day.

Chapter Thirty-Two

COLE

I’m going to tell her.

As I make this demand of myself, I glare at my steering wheel, like it will somehow try to convince me to do otherwise.

I might let it.

---