Page 6 of The Cost of Love

Gabby’s yawn is the only response. I look at the time on my phone to see that it is just past 1 a.m., and much too late for her to be up. Jamal may be eleven, but he looks just as tired.

“Let’s get to bed. We can have a bigger conversation about our options tomorrow.”

“Just don’t rule out Australia,” Jamal says, placing his plate in the sink

They shuffle off to their rooms, and Imani throws one last look over her shoulder before she goes.

With them gone, I let the tears come as frustration spill over the brink of my eyes. We are barely getting by now. We can’t afford to pay more rent, let alone save for a first month and a deposit. Why would Lenny do this to us? Ever since I started renting here, he has always helped me out with shifts at his pizza shop, or an extension on the payment. What changed? I press my palms against my lids, forcing everything to stay in. I’ve got to keep it together if we have a shot at getting through this.

In need of some dopamine, I change and then unlock my phone to head to social media. As the screensaver clears, I see Alexander has already texted me. A simple nice to meet you and have a good night. I shake my head, trying to let loose whatever nerve got me to this point with him. Sending back, same, I open the first app I see and let myself get lost in mindless scrolling.

Despite all the rest I need, my alarms blare to life at 6 a.m., waking me up. Sleep crusts in the corners of my eyes as I sit up and wipe at the dried drool on my cheek. Hearing a timer count down in my head, urgency has me moving before I’m ready. Having fallen asleep without a wash, I’m in desperate need of one to clear the stench of sweat and food.

As soon as the water is warm enough, I move under it while trying not to wet my hair. The stand-up shower barely fits my full body, so maneuvering while I wash myself is a workout. More tired than I was before I started, I sluggishly get out and get dressed.

By the time I finish getting ready, the timer has diminished to just thirty minutes left, leaving me with just enough time to make it to the café I work at. Leaving the kids asleep, I sneak out of the flat and head out.

The tube is just a block from our place, and the walk helps clear my head. Instantly, my mind trails to last night. Did I really think I had time to go on a date with some rich guy? Working seven days a week, most weeks, all my free time goes to the kids. Doing catering jobs most evenings, and the café during the day, when do I think I can fit in a man? As if summoned by my thoughts, my phone lights up with his name.

Good morning, he sends.

Good morning. Sleep well? I text back, still unsure of why I am even trying.

Suddenly, my phone rings.

“Uh, hello?” I say.

“I didn’t sleep at all. How did you sleep, and why are you up so early?”

Trying to wrap my head around the fact that he just called me, I take a beat. We only met yesterday, and I’ve already talked to him more than I have any other man in the last four years. Still, for some reason, I answered.

“I have work, and I also barely slept.” Getting to the entrance of the tube, I descend the stairs, pushing into the fray. “Can’t you sleep now? It’s Sunday,” I ask.

“I’m too wired to even think about lying down. I just got back from a jog, and am contemplating getting breakfast. Would you possibly be able to join me?”

“Isn’t our date supposed to be you taking me to an event?” I swipe my card and enter the platform.

People stand around, waiting for the next train to come through. Forcing my way to the front, I find my own spot to linger in.

“That can be one of our dates, but impatience is a fault of mine. I want to see you as soon as possible.”

Pulling the phone away from my face, I stare at it like it’s the man. One of our dates? My eyebrows bunch together, and my lips turn down as I try to make sense of what he is saying.

“Well, I can’t, I have work.”

“When don’t you have work?” His voice is light and airy, like he is smiling on the other side.

I imagine him in his fancy penthouse, sitting on some brown leather couch, lounging in luxury. He also happens to be shirtless in this daydream, water trickling down his chest from the shower he took after his jog.

Trying to rid myself of that image, I focus back on the conversation.

“I always work, but maybe after my shift, if you don’t mind getting dinner instead.” Staring down at my wrinkled top and plain jeans, I wonder if I have anything in my wardrobe up to the task of going out to eat with him. Really, I should focus on solving our housing crisis instead of playing into this fantasy. But I need sex. It’s been way too long.

“Tonight? Perfect. I know just the place.”

“I like to eat, so it better be good.” I check the time.

“I like to eat too, so it will be. Trust me.”