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She shook her head. “Doesn’t surprise me. He’s such a son of a bitch he’d just appeal it anyway even if you did get a judgment.”

I went to grab my laundry from my room.

“What are you gonna do, then?” she called down the hall.

I shrugged. “Keep working with the credit card companies?” I said. “Hope they take over, clear my balance? I’m probably going to end up paying it all off myself,” I mumbled, carrying my clothes out to the living room.

“You could file for bankruptcy.”

“And ruin my credit for the next seven years? I won’t be able to rent an apartment, buy a house, buy a car. If I work my ass off, I could clear it in twelve months. It’ll suck, but at least I’ll salvage my future.”

She sighed. “Oh, hon, I’m so sorry he did this.”

“It’s not your fault,” I said, dumping my basket on the coffee table. “I could have paid for credit alerts, but I didn’t want to spend the money.”

“Wouldn’t have helped anyway. He charged it up so fast. I’ll give you what I can when I start working again.”

“Thanks.”

She fished her cigarettes from under my clothes pile. “In the meantime, you need to be somewhere with a bar. The tips are so much better.”

“Mom, I cannot stand drunks,” I said, folding a pair of my work pants. “And I’m tired of working until the sun’s gone. If I have to work twelve hours a day, at least they should be the twelve hours I prefer.”

“I guess so,” she said while she got up for the patio.

She stood where she always did when she wanted to talk to me while she smoked. With the doorframe between her shoulder blades, the slider close to her chest, one hand in the apartment, her smoking hand outside.

“How’s it going with Mike?” she asked, clicking her lighter on.

“Good.”

“He reminds me of my high school boyfriend—did I ever tell you about Brady?” She blew smoke out. “God, I wish I would have married that man instead. He’s a real estate agent now. We coulda been living someplace nice.”

“I wish you would have married him too,” I muttered, balling socks.

“Yeah, well, hindsight is twenty-twenty and all that. Anyway. Mike is a good one. Nice ass too.”

I gave her a look. “Mom.”

“What? Enjoy it now. They only get softer the older they get, and I’m not just talkin’ about the muscles.” She blew smoke outside. “Chris isn’t half bad either.”

“Yeah, he was nice.”

He really was. He’d been letting me text him medication questions since Mom’s surgery last week. He never did come to get any books though. I’d offered them twice.

I still had to return his hoodie. I guess I could just give it to Mike, but then I’d have to admit why I had it, which was embarrassing. Maybe I should just leave it over at Mike’s place? Or in his truck? Drop it in the same spot I found it?

“You know, with your looks, you could get a doctor or something,” Mom said, tapping her cigarette into the ashtray she kept on the upside-down paint bucket on the patio. “You should get a job at that bar by the hospital. Lots of surgeons in there. Someone who can get you out of a place like this.”

“I don’t want a guy to get me out of anything,” I said. “I’ll get myself out.”

“Oh yeah? That why you let Mike pay for the car?” She pursed her lips like she got me.

I shot her a look. “Do you think I like that Mike had to pay for the car? I had a plan for that, remember? My tax return?”

She took another pull on her cigarette instead of answering me.

“I told him not to, and he went down to the shop and paid for it anyway,” I said. “Believe me, I didn’t want him to. I still feel bad about it and I’m paying him back.”