Page 43 of Meet Cute Reboot

Mom rolls her eyes and then buries her head again. “Not all women are into you,” she says to the tabletop.

“I know, but my instincts tell me it’s not over yet.”

“My instincts tell me to brush my teeth and take a shower.”

My text notification goes off. I pull the phone from my back pocket, expectant, hoping, only to have my spirits dashed. It’s Macy.

Call me. I need to talk to you.

I’m not sure why she always textsmeto tellmeto callher. But it is what it is.

Mom perks up. “Is it Cassie?”

“No. Work. I have to take this in my office. Drink lots of water. You’ll feel better eventually.” I stand and pat her on the back on my way to my office, Korg trailing dutifully behind me.

I make sure the office door latches, which guarantees a smidgen of privacy assuming Mom doesn’t put her ear to a glass on the other side of the door. She doesn’t know I’m financiallysupporting Macy and given her recent inability to keep secrets, that’s for the best. After popping my AirPods into my ears, I dial.

“Hey,” Macy answers dully.

“Why do you always text me to call you? You realize instead of all that thumb exercise you could just punch a single button?”

“I don’t want to bug you in the middle of one of your fancy meetings.”

I guess she has a point. “Fine,” I concede. “How is Gabe?” Her phone calls are usually about Gabe and the extra costs he incurs.

“He’s sick again. His doctor said it’s another ear infection. He told me to take Gabe to a specialist.”

“An otolaryngologist?”

“My doc called it an Ear, Nose, and Throat doctor, but I guess if you want to be fancy.”

“What’s with the ‘fancy’ quips?”

I hear a sigh on the other end. “Sorry. I guess I’m grumpy. I’m just so tired. Gabe won’t sleep through the night. He wakes up screaming every two hours.”

“Ear infections hurt,” I say remembering the time we went to Saint Joseph on Lake Michigan and a surprise wave slapped me in the head. I ended up with the worst ear infection of my life.

“Yeah,” Macy says.

“What did the ENT say?”

“He needs another set of ear tubes. Apparently his first set already fell out.”

I whistle. “Poor kid.”

“I’m going to need five hundred. That’s how much insurance won’t cover. And...”

I wait for her to finish. She doesn’t so I assume this next one will be a doozy.

“And?” I prod.

“My tires are bald. I’ve been putting it off but I’m starting to feel afraid to drive Gabe around in that thing.”

By “thing,” she means her 2006 Ford Focus. I’ve stopped short of buying her a new car. I’m willing to help but only so much. Gabe isn’t mine, but after nine months of thinking he was, I built an attachment. I can’t let him suffer because his mom can’t hold down a job for more than two months.

To be fair, it’s hard for Macy. Childcare in L.A. is the cost of a mortgage, and the mortgages out there make even upper middle class folks house-poor.

“I’ll transfer fifteen hundred to your account.”