The Roommate by Kiersten Modglin (best way to read books .TXT) 📕

experience whatever opportunities she has. Does it absolutely terrify me? One thousand percent. But does that mean I want to say no? Also yes. Am I going to? I don't know if I can, Wes. How can we surround her with these people and tell her she can't participate in anything they get to do. It's why things were just so much simpler before. It's complicated here, and it’s only getting more complicated as she gets older."

I watched her tuck a blonde curl behind her ear as she pulled down two mugs without asking if I wanted one. Of course, she didn't need to ask. I would stay until she kicked me out if it were up to me.

"How did you leave it? When you talked to her."

"I told her I didn't know if it was safe and that I’d talk to you, and then she stormed out and it sounded like there was an exorcism in there for most of the evening," I said plainly.

"About as well as could be expected then, hm?" she asked with a dry laugh.

"About as well as could be expected." I chuckled under my breath, my chest tight. I couldn’t help still feeling wound up over the incident.

She poured the coffee before the pot was fully brewed, putting two spoonfuls of stevia in hers and a bit of powdered creamer in mine before handing me the coffee mug. She smiled at me and tilted hers toward mine. “Another problem for another day.”

I tapped mine against hers and lifted the mug to my lips. Her calmness was contagious, and I let it pass through me.

Once she’d taken the first sip, she looked around again. “It really does look great in here. You worked hard.”

"Thanks," I said halfheartedly. "I did as much as I could. Laundry's folded and put away. I've got a load of my clothes in the dryer now that I'm going to wait for if that's okay. I fixed the cabinet door, too." The one I was supposed to fix over a year ago but kept forgetting to do. Neither of us mentioned that, but I knew it was there in the air between us. I was trying to do better.

I was trying.

She nodded. "I really appreciate it."

“Thank you for keeping the flowers, by the way.” I gestured toward the vase in the center of the island.

Her cheeks grew pink as she looked toward them. “Of course, Wes. It was…really thoughtful of you to do that. You didn’t have to.”

“I know I didn’t, but I wanted to. I wish I’d brought you flowers more often…before.”

Her smile was sad and wistful, her eyes distant. “They are beautiful. You really surprised me. I love y—” She stopped herself, looking down. “Them. I love them.”

I swallowed, trying to pretend the correction of what she’d been intending to say hadn’t stung. Don’t you still love me? Nevertheless, I recovered quickly, changing the subject. "How was work?"

She appeared relieved to be talking about something else. "Oh, you know… It is what it is."

I leaned against the counter. I'd never heard Addy talk about her work that way. She loved being a teacher. It had always brought her such joy. Was she really so miserable there now?

"Did you have a rough day?"

She seemed taken aback by the question. "No worse than usual, I guess. I love what I do, don't get me wrong. I love my kids. I love teaching. But…" She sighed. "Forget it. I don't want to complain. I'm blessed to be doing what I love.”

"Don’t do that… I really want to know. You aren't complaining. Talk to me."

She smiled and took a seat at the island, a weight visibly lifted from her shoulders as I sat across from her. "It's not about the money for me. You know that. It's never been about that for me."

"I know." And I did. Addy had never cared about money. She was the type of person who’d donate everything we had—in the form of school supplies, clothing, shoes, and even lunch money—to the kids in her class who didn’t have enough. She kept boxes of snacks in her desk drawers for the children who hadn’t gotten breakfast at home and, every Christmas at the old school, she’d organize a toy and coat drive to make sure no child went without. She was a selfless person whose entire heart went into helping the children in our community. Part of me had always wondered if our contrasting ideals when it came to money and wealth would be the thing to drive us apart—the jury was still out on that.

"But sometimes,” she went on, interrupting my thoughts, “when I see kids driving cars that cost more than I make in a year or tossing out sweatshirts that cost more than my monthly salary because they got a snag in them, it's just really hard, you know? That's not what I want Rory to think life is like. I'm glad she's getting a good education, don't get me wrong. I'm very thankful she's able to go to the Academy, but sometimes I just wonder if the things she's learning from her peers are worth the sacrifice for her education. The other day she asked me why we couldn't just hire a maid or two to help us out instead of having Mom stay with us. She's starting to think these things are normal, and I don't want that for her. The kids in this neighborhood, they just don't live in the real world, Wes. They live in the world of lavish vacations, private jets, live-in staff, and two-thousand-dollar outfits. We just aren't those people, and it's really starting to get to Rory. I don't know how to make her understand that it's a good thing, that there’s nothing wrong with the way we live and that we’re actually very well-off compared to the way you and I grew up. I feel like we're failing her."

“We aren’t failing her,” I argued, though I had no