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Shayna shifts a bit so she’s facing me more directly. “Lee, Bryce only knows because she found us. We cannot tell anyone else. The more people who know, the more likely that they’ll accidentally slip and that would be a disaster.”
“I can think of some other words besides disaster.” It’s hard not to take it personally when the girl you’re into says it would be a disaster if anyone ever knew about you two.
She tilts her head. “You know what I mean. There’s too much to lose.”
My jaw aches with how hard I’m clenching it, trying to keep my thoughts to myself because Shayna clearly doesn’t want to hear them. Instead of pushing this conversation now, I’m going to push it to another day.
Her phone rings from the nightstand and she turns to grab it then looks back at me. “It’s my mom. Do you mind?”
“Of course not.”
“Okay, be quiet though. I don’t want her asking questions.”
I suppress rolling my eyes and instead mime zipping my lips closed. The obvious panic she has about anyone knowing about us is grating on me. I’m not sure if it’s because deep down I want more. I wanted her on my arm at that party last night. I want everyone we come into contact with to know she’s mine and only mine.
“Hi, Mom, how are you?” she answers.
She chats with her mom for a few minutes, and from what I gather, they’re talking about Thanksgiving. By the time she says goodbye and sets the phone back on the nightstand, I’m finished eating and have set my plate on my nightstand.
“How’s your mom?” I ask.
“She’s good. Sorry to ask you to be quiet. It’s just that we’ve been playing phone tag all week because she’s been working so much. Our schedules haven’t aligned, and when you add in the time difference…” She shrugs.
“Where does your mom work?”
Shayna picks her cutlery back up off the serving tray. “Right now, she’s working as a waitress at some truckers’ diner.”
“Oh.” I nod.
She turns to face me. “What does oh mean?”
My eyes widen. “It means, oh… like okay.”
She doesn’t say anything. Instead she stabs a piece of her omelet and brings it to her mouth before chewing aggressively. I didn’t even know a person could chew aggressively until this moment.
“Hey, what’s with the attitude?” I rub her back.
She sets down her fork and knife with a clatter. “Just your response. Oh. Not everyone can be a big shot, you know.”
I raise both hands in a placating gesture. “You know all about my mom. She can’t even hold down a job. Who the hell am I to judge? You said, ‘Right now she’s working at a diner,’ which led me to think that there’s something behind the right now part and I wasn’t sure how to address it, that’s all.”
She lets a stream of air flow from her mouth and her shoulders sag. “You’re right, I’m sorry.”
I run my nose up along her cheek, bringing my lips close to her ear. “I swear I wasn’t judging her. I’m sorry if it came off that way.”
She’s shaking her head while I speak. “No, you didn’t do anything wrong. This is all me.” She sets the tray on the nightstand beside her and turns toward me. “When I was growing up, my mom always had to take odd jobs here and there—the kind most people didn’t want… waitress at a dive bar, housekeeping at the local roach motel, fast food, that kind of thing. The minimum wage jobs that didn’t require anything but a high school degree.”
I take one of her hands because it’s obvious that she’s uncomfortable talking about this. “Why didn’t she ever settle into one job?”
She bites her bottom lip. “When my parents got married, they agreed that my mom would stay home with the kids and help take care of my grandma and my dad would work. Grandma lived with us most of my life because she was sickly. I ended up an only child, but my mom still stayed home and took care of me and Grandma. But when I was around ten, my dad started having problems holding down a job. He hurt his back at work, and that’s when the drinking started. He’d go on benders and not show up to work or have poor performance and get fired. Then my mom would be forced to go find a job ASAP to help pay the bills until my dad’s phase ended and he found another job. Then she’d be able to stay home again.”
I squeeze her hand. “I’m sorry, that must have been hard to deal with. But I have to say, I think it’s amazing that your mom stepped up and did what needed doing to make sure your family was okay. I would have loved to have a mother like that.”
She frowns. “That’s how I felt, even at the time. I was lucky I had a mom who would take these shitty jobs at a moment’s notice so that they could pay the mortgage.” She looks down at our joined hands. “My mom is the nicest woman—she’d do anything for anyone. But when the kids at high school would find out where she was working, they’d make fun of me for it. I saw firsthand how people treated her in those jobs too—like she didn’t matter, like she was less than them. They acted as if she had nothing to offer, and it broke my heart that my smart, caring, resourceful mother was being treated so shittily.”
Tears build in her eyes, and I cup her cheek. “Teenagers are assholes.”
“People are assholes,” she mutters. “Sometimes I think that’s why I’ve always been so driven to succeed. I didn’t want to find myself in the same position as her, and I definitely don’t want my kids to someday have to watch me being treated like shit because someone thinks my job is menial.”
