“How short?” my father asked. My mother must have put me on speaker.
“Not much. Two of my clients paid late, and all my software subscriptions renewed at once. I’m waiting on three invoices, but my rent is due before any of them will clear.”
“How much do you need?” Mom asked.
Hope rose too quickly. Maybe they’d actually help me this time.
“Maybe five hundred. I could pay you back as soon as the invoices come in.”
“Oh,” she said.
That one syllable had twenty-six years of disappointment packed inside it.
My father cleared his throat. “This isn’t the best time.”
I stared at the wall. “You’re on vacation.”
“Yes, and this trip has been far more expensive than anticipated,” my mother said. “The exchange rate is terrible.”
I didn’t know whether that was true. I also knew better than to ask.
“We upgraded the train tickets because your father’s back has been bothering him,” she continued. “Then the hotel in Paris charged us twice for the room deposit, and we won’t get that money back until after we return.”
“They said three to five business days,” my father added.
“You’re gone for another two weeks.”
“Exactly,” my mother said. “So everything is rather tied up.”
I curled my fingers against my thigh beneath the desk. “I’d pay you back.”
“That’s not the issue,” she said.
“We don’t want you becoming dependent on us,” my father explained. “You’re building your own life now.”
I squeezed the bridge of my nose and closed my eyes. “I’m only asking for a temporary loan.”
“We know, honey.” My mother’s tone softened, which only made the refusal worse. “Could you put the rent on a credit card?”
“My landlord doesn’t take credit cards.”
“Maybe one of those payment apps?”
“There’s a fee.”
“Well, that’s not ideal, but it’s an option.”
I inhaled slowly and looked toward the ceiling. The smoke detector stared back without judgment, which immediately made it my favorite member of the family.
“I’ll figure it out,” I said.
“We knew you would,” my father replied, not bothering to disguise his relief.
“Oh, before I forget, we gave your number to someone,” my mother said brightly.
My spine locked. “Why?”
“We met the most impressive man on the flight over.”
“Mom.”
“He’s an entrepreneur.”
At the back of my brain, every terrible date I’d ever endured sat upright and prepared to testify.
“What kind of entrepreneur?” I asked because, clearly, I was a glutton for punishment.
“Well,” she began, “he owns several businesses.”
“What kind of businesses?”
“I don’t remember all the details. Something with property, consulting, and online commerce.”
That meant he sold a course.
“He was very successful,” my father said. “Flying in first class.”
“You were in premium economy,” I reminded him.
“Yes, but he came back to use our restroom.”
I covered my face. “Please tell me you didn’t give a stranger my phone number while he was waiting for the bathroom.”
“We had a lovely conversation,” my mother protested. “He asked whether we had children, and we mentioned you.”
“You showed him a picture, didn’t you?”
“It was a flattering one.”
I stood and paced away from the desk. “How old is he?”
My parents went silent.
I stopped beside the kitchen counter. “How old?”
“He’s mature,” my mother said.
“How mature?”
“In his late forties.”
I stared at the worn laminate beneath my palm. “I’m twenty-six.”
“Yes, honey, but you’re an old soul,” Mom said.
“No, I’m just tired.”
“He’s only forty-six, Sloane,” she continued. “And honestly, he’s a real silver fox.”
My father made a sound of agreement.
“Dad, please don’t participate.”
“I’m only saying he has all his hair.”
I closed my eyes again, but there was nowhere inside my mind far enough away from this conversation.
“Did you give him my number or ask if you could give him my number?”
“We told him you were shy,” Mom said.
“That wasn’t my question.”
Dad cleared his throat. “He seemed very respectful.”
“Was he wearing a wedding ring?”
Another silence.
My stomach dropped.
“He said he was separated,” my mother said.
“Mom.”
“What? People separate, Sloane.”
“They also lie to strangers on airplanes.”
She huffed. “You’re determined to see the negative in everything.”
“No, Mother, I’m determined not to become evidence in someone’s divorce proceedings.”
My father muttered something that sounded suspiciously like fair point.
My mother ignored him. “You never know where you might meet someone.”
“I know where I don’t want to meet someone – through my parents after he met them at the airplane bathroom.”
“That’s not what happened,” Mom argued.
“It’s the exact sequence of events you described.”
A burst of sound came through the phone. Footsteps. Bells. People talking. A car horn. My mother said something to my father about the tour group leaving without them, then said with sudden urgency, “We have to go, but promise you won’t dismiss him immediately.”
“I promise nothing.”
“Sloane.”
“I have work to do.”
“All right. Buh-bye.”
“Bye.”
“Try to sound happier when he calls,” she added.
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