Page 10 of Lose You Twice

“You have seven, because the bridge construction is still awful.”

She sighs and checks the clock on the microwave. “I hate when you’re right.”

“That must be really hard for you, since it happens so often.”

Her mouth twitches. “Careful. I brought you into this world.”

“And then you kept going four more times, which feels like a you problem.”

That earns me a real laugh.

Mom turns back to her lunch, but I see the stack of envelopes near the toaster before she can casually slide a grocery receipt over them. One has red print across the top. Another has FINAL NOTICE in a font that feels unnecessarily aggressive for six in the morning.

My stomach drops.

I look away.

Not because I don’t care.

Because if I look too long, she’ll know I saw, and then she’ll feel worse, and I can’t do anything useful with her guilt when I already have my own.

“I can handle drop-offs,” I say, grabbing bread from the pantry. “Don’t worry.”

“I hate that you have to.”

“I don’t.” I line up slices on the counter. “The twins’ school is on the way.”

“It is not.”

“It is somewhat on the way if I was going in the opposite direction of PCU?”

“Wren.”

I glance over.

Mom’s expression has shifted, guilt seeping through her features. “You have your own life.”

The laugh that comes out of me is almost believable. “Sure. It’s very glamorous. Mostly reminders on my phone and unpaid parking tickets.”

“I mean it.”

“I know.”

“You shouldn’t have to build your schedule around mine.”

My hands still around the peanut butter jar.

For one second, I think about the apartment listings still open in a browser tab on my laptop. The tiny studio near campus with terrible lighting but enough space for a desk by the window. The roommate ad Harlow sent me back in November. The stupid Pinterest board I made for a place I never even got to tour.

Then I think about the red letters on the envelopes.

The twins’ lunch accounts.

Justin’s basketball fees.

Dad’s latest excuse about child support being “delayed,” which is divorced-dad code for I have decided my responsibilities are optional this month.

I twist open the jar.