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“No. I’ve used you more than enough for today.” I shake my head and brandish the bag with the new phone that will make Meg’s Christmas. The man plays dirtier than an entire week’s worth of the cloth diaper laundry I used to do for the kids when they were babies. I don’t give him any more ammunition by pointing out that I actually have to pay for the privilege of doing my student teaching.
“You can use me any way you like, Angel.” Saint steps closer, tentatively reaching toward my face. I lean into his gentle caress, the sweet touches I’ve been craving since I left his place a week ago.
“Fuck you.” I hiss the words, eyes closed, unwilling to deny myself, but angry at him for how he went about this. Furious at myself for being angry and for making him believe the only way I’d accept his help is if he went behind my back. Not to mention using my kid to manipulate me. That’s fucked up, and I’m not sure which of us is the bigger asshole for it.
“Is that what you want? Because I am game for it.” He tries to turn it into a joke and I’m not in the mood to laugh. Everything is just so overwhelming. I came here tonight to set all of it down, if only for a few hours. It sucks that he’s throwing my failures in my face. Not on purpose…but still.
“You know what? Forget it. Thanks for the phone. I should go.” I turn to put my boots back on, but I can’t quite manage the coordination with my eyes blurry from suppressed tears. My heart is pounding with all these conflicting feelings. Sick to my stomach at the prospect of choosing between more credit card debt or explaining to Owen why his sister got another new phone while he gets socks.
Fuck my life. I guess I could give Owen my phone once I give Meg this one. I’d planned on waiting another few years before handing Owen that kind of responsibility, but…
Saint touches my shoulder.
“Did I fuck this up?” he asks when I glance back at him.
“Yeah.” I swipe my hand over my eyes to dash away the tears. “I’m exhausted, Saint. There aren’t enough hours in the day and I can’t pay you back for this or afford to get Owen something with a similar value and I just…”
He purses his lips. “If I offer to buy your son an Xbox to make it even, would that make things worse?”
I laugh then, but it sounds bitter, because of course that’s nothing to him. He can just throw more money at me and I’ll smile and thank him and…I don’t know what his endgame is.
Most likely, knowing Saint, he just wants to make my life easier. But the thought of strings tied to his gifts makes me want to run before I can find out otherwise. There was a time when I didn’t think Trevor’s affection came with obligations and I was so catastrophically wrong. I won’t go back to living like that.
“Right, I’ll take that as a yes.” Saint rubs at his neck.
He looks so earnest, like he’s upset to watch me having a breakdown in his entryway. This didn’t have to happen. We could have just gone up to his room. We could be basking in the afterglow by now.
“I don’t want you to solve my problems for me, Saint. I don’t want to be dependent on anyone.” Not ever again.
“I’m sorry. If it’s that big a deal, I can take the phone back.”
I bark out a laugh. “Except you went behind my back and told Meg about it already. Which, honestly, might be the worst part. You can’t use my kids to manipulate me like that again, Mathieu. Or we’re through, got me?”
“You’re right. That was a shitty judgment call. But you needed a phone, and I knew you wouldn’t take the gift for yourself.”
“You’re right. Saint, this isn’t normal. Fuck buddies, don’t just gift each other brand new iPhones.”
“I know. That’s why it’s my old one.” He smiles at me, inviting me in on the joke, but it’s too much.
“Didn’t you just get a new phone over the summer?”
“Yes?” He winces theatrically, and I know he’s still trying to cheer me up.
I burst out laughing then, I can’t help it, I laugh until I’m doubled over and my sides ache and Saint reaches to steady me, patting my back.
“I’m glad you find me so hilarious.” He pouts at me.
“You twisted yourself into a pretzel to justify this, huh?”
“A tiny bit?” He tugs at his salt-and-pepper hair. “Ugh. Look, you’re my friend above anything else that’s between us.”
“Okay?”
“So, the thing is, when I tell people I don’t do relationships, they usually get the wrong idea. Like, they assume it means I’m some sort of emotionless robot. Or they decide they can change me with the power of true love.” He rolls his eyes.
I snort. “The power of love is a steaming pile of unicorn shit.”
“See? This is why we work so well.” Saint grins sheepishly at me. “The thing is, just because I’m not going to suddenly profess my undying love for you in skywriting doesn’t mean I don’t care about you, Angel.”
