Mom giggles—fucking giggles—and sits beside him. He drapes an arm around her shoulders.
I'm still standing one step inside the doorway, watching my mother cuddle up to a man whose name she probably didn't know forty-eight hours ago.
I feel so goddamn tired.
"I brought you some money," I say. "For the rent."
Mom's face brightens. "Oh, honey, that's so sweet of you. Rick, isn't she sweet?"
"Sweet as pie," Rick agrees without looking away from the TV.
I pull the envelope from my purse and set it on the kitchen counter.
Twelve hundred dollars, pulled from an ATM on my way here. If I had to bet, I'd say Rick here will be drinking that money by the end of the night.
When the Bulls game reaches a commercial break, Rick looks at my mother. "G, baby, grab me another beer, will ya?"
She leaps to her feet, jewelry jangling. "Of course, baby. I'll be right back."
