Page 12 of Trailer Trash

“A house,” he echoes. “My dad must pay CNAs better than I thought.”

Now, I glance up. “Uh, no. It’s a government loan program for first-time home buyers, so I only had to put a little down.”

He stares intently. He looks better than before. The dark circles under his eyes have faded. His jaw is less swollen. He wears regular clothes and his dark hair is neater.

“It’s not really a house, either. It’s a mobile home on a small lot.”

“A trailer.”

“No,” I say firmly.

I won’t let him reduce this milestone to something less than it is. There is nothing wrong with living in a trailer, but I saved for something permanent. Something with land beneath it and my name on a deed.

“It is a park model. It doesn’t have wheels.”

Silence.

Good.

After a tense beat, I tear my eyes off his, which are dark and a little too hypnotic for my liking. I resume my efforts to read.

“Congratulations,” he says.

“Thanks. I’m the first in my family to own a place. When I become a nurse, I’ll be the first to graduate from college, too.” I say, feeling a bit proud of myself, but remember we need boundaries. “Anyway, I’m going to read my book. Okay?”

“How old are you?”

I wince.

You don’t like this, Harlow. Don’t let his games fool you.

“Do you want sleep meds?” I offer. “I can speak with the nurse.”

His eyes narrow.

“How old are you?” he repeats.

“Twenty-two.”

“Same as me.”

“Nice try. I read your chart. You’re twenty-four.” I smile, pleased I caught his lie. “We have nothing in common.”

More silence.

I glance over.

Another unsettling death stare. He wants me to see him displeased. Something tells me he isn’t used to being ignored.

“Is this how you treat all your patients?”

I shrug. “Only patients who make threats for pills and have me dragged off my floor.”

I keep my eyes down and re-read the first sentence.

“Why do you hate addicts? I’m not your ex-boyfriend.”

Okay, mentioning my ex is a step too far.