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I had to move back in with my parents when I returned from college five years ago, newly diagnosed, sick, and terrified. It helps that I live with them, but I could use the financial help.
“I didn’t know you knew Tristan.” Julie looks at me with raised eyebrows.
“I don’t know him know him. I met him here at the coffee shop. He looked upset when he left, that’s all.“ I shrug and organize the stack of cups that are already perfectly placed.
Although I’m from Hartville, I live on the other side of town. I never spent much time around here since I went to school in Brookes, a small city outside of Hartville. My parents and I thought it’d be a better fit for me because of the STEM program, and it was, but my education got cut short anyway.
“He’s been out of town for years. He just came back to town—the same as his brother,” Julie tells me. “They’re the richest family in Hartville. One of the richest in the county.”
“Really?” I look at her with furrowed brows.
“Yeah,” she laughs. “It’s no secret.” Her eyes widen, and she shakes her head as if I live under a rock. I do. I’ve always focused on my studies, reading, and drawing. With most of my friends living in a different city, I spent more time with them there than here.
“I have no idea who they are.” I frown.
“Really? Mr. Remington owns one of the biggest real estate agencies nationwide. They focus on exclusive and uber-expensive properties. Like, the type of homes billionaires would buy. Anyway, Hudson worked for him but recently broke away to do his own thing and moved back to Hartville to be with his girlfriend, Alexa. She owns the dance studio.”
I nod, listening as she gives me a run-down of Tristan’s family in true small-town fashion.
High society, power, influence . . .
What in the world? None of what she says matches the man who has come in here. Was his story about the trust fund a lie so he could give me money like some sort of charity case?
My heart pumps as my stomach fills with lead. He seemed so nice, but if his parents have that much money, the trust fund story he told me can’t possibly be true. Surely they would gladly give him whatever he needed.
Shaking my head with my fist squeezed tight, I excuse myself and go into the bathroom. I stare at myself in the mirror under the yellow light.
Deep breaths, in and out.
I don’t need donations. I just need a job that won’t fire me after I call in sick more than one day in a row because of a flare-up or because I have important doctor appointments I can’t miss.
I’m a fool.
I turn on the sink and wash my face as I will my heart to slow down. So much for thinking Tristan could be a friend. It’s better this way. No one wants to be around a sick girl. At least that’s what the guy I was dating in college said right after I got diagnosed and didn’t have the energy or will to go to frat parties.
I close my eyes for a moment and clear my mind. A knot forms in my throat, but I manage to swallow past it.
I’ll turn down his money and pretend this never happened. So what if I pay fifty dollars a month for the rest of my life to clear my hefty medical bills? At least I’ll know I did it on my own.
I get back to work, ignoring the thoughts and questions plaguing my mind. Next time Tristan comes to the coffee shop, I’ll find a moment to say, Thank you, but no, thank you.
“I really wish you didn’t live all the way in Virginia,” I tell my best friend Daisy as I settle back on my bed, leaning against the white-washed headboard.
Our phone calls are my favorite part of any day.
“I’m sorry I got a job in our country’s capital and had to move away.” Her sarcasm is thick.
“You’re a jerk,” I laugh. “I’m so proud of you, but I miss you.”
“I know, S. How are you? You sound . . . tired.” That’s her way of questioning my health without making it a big deal.
“I’m okay. I had a weird week.”
“Is the new job good?”
“Yeah, I really like it. It makes me feel like I’m back on campus, serving sleep-deprived college students their caffeine fix to get them through their next class. Except I’m serving coffee to people of all ages, none of whom look like zombies the way college kids do. Although, one person did walk in yesterday who I thought was going to fall asleep on the counter mid-order.” I laugh, and Daisy joins me.
“That would be me some mornings,” she giggles. “I’m glad you like it. How’s everything else?” Her voice drops with concern.
