“Number nine is done!” Charlie announces. He waves the paper in my face as I approach. “Dad, can you order Mexican? I only have four problems to go.”
“Well…” Unfortunately, our takeout food habit will have to end if I’m buying a new truck tomorrow.
“Pleeeeeeease? We should treat Beck.”
“No, it’s fine,” Beck says. “Totally unnecessary.”
I glance at Charlie. “We can’t have takeout anyway, bud, because your mom is on her way, and I probably have to go to work. But if your mom is late, I’ll make some pasta.”
The enthusiasm drains from Charlie’s face like air from a punctured tire. “Seriously? Beck just saved my life, and we can’t even order burritos to say thank you?”
“Charlie.” I try to keep my voice level, but there’s an edge creeping in. “I said I already had a plan for dinner.”
“Pasta again?” His voice cracks with disappointment. “Dad, this is like... a big deal. I actually get it now. And Beck drove all the way over here to help me, and you won’t even?—“
“I said no.” The words come out sharper than I intended, and Charlie’s expression crumbles.
Beck pushes back in his chair. “Hey, I have to head out anyway?—”
“God!” Charlie snaps. “This is so stupid. Mom would totally let us order food. Mick probably would have gotten us dessert too.”
The comparison hits like a slap. Of course Mick can afford dessert. Mick gets paid high six figures as an anesthesiologist.
“Well, I’m not Mick,” I say, my voice flat. “And this is my house.”
Charlie stares at me for a long moment, something hurt and confused flickering across his face. Then he grabs his pencil and paper and stomps into the living room to finish the work there. At least I hope that’s his plan.
I sit down in his chair and put my head in my hands. “Thank you,” I tell Beck. “Seriously. I didn’t know how I was going to find and pay for a fucking tutor.”
“Hey,” he says, his voice soft and low. He puts a hand on my thigh and squeezes. “It was nothing. I was listening to him grumble about the math in the car, and I thought maybe I could help.”
“Seems like you helped a lot. But…” I bow my head, wishing I could throw the celebratory dinner that Charlie wants. And wishing I could just let this happen. Meals together. Math homework and video games and easy fun together. If I squint, I can almost see it. I sigh. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
Rising from the table, I say, “Let me walk you to your car.”
His face falls. “Okay, sure.” He puts his coat on and follows me out to the driveway.
“That a loaner?” he asks, glancing at the Honda.
“Yup. I have to buy something tomorrow, whether I’m ready or not.”
He winces. “Sorry.”
“That makes two of us. I was a few months from having the down payment I need.” We stop at Beck’s Jeep, and I park my hip against it. “It pisses me off that I can’t even buy you dinner to thank you for what you did for me today.”
He throws his arms out to the sides. “When did I ever give you the impression that I give a crap about who picks up the dinner check?”
“You haven’t,” I admit. “But I fucking care.” He solved two problems for me in one afternoon, but I can’t even express my gratitude. “Look, I really do have to work tonight,” I tell him. “And you’re right that I have poker tomorrow. I can’t blow it off this week, because—” Oh jeez. “Because it’s my birthday, and they’re getting me a cake.”
He stares. “Your birthday? You weren’t going to mention it?”
“Fuck no. My birthday isn’t something I care about.” It’s not a lie. “When you’re my age…”
He laughs. “Your age, huh. So tomorrow you turn... fifty-seven?”
“Thirty-five, you ass.”
