Page 71 of The Music of Us
My head pounded and my eyes watered. I was having a bad, bad,badallergy day combined with not sleeping, and I needed to be dressed and at the café in... fifteen minutes.
I couldn’t do it.
“Hey, Mom,” I started, throwing open my bedroom door and sluggishly making my way toward the kitchen. “I know I’m saying this kind of late, but I don’t think I can make it to the ca—”
I didn’t finish my sentence. Mom sat at the kitchen table, poring over a letter, her lips pursed tight. One hand fisted in her hair, holding it out of her face, and her eyes were lined with worry.
I stopped in my tracks, feeling the cold kitchen tile through my socks. Unease settled over me.
“Mom?” I questioned cautiously. “What’s going on?”
Voice quiet, she said, “The landlord’s raising the rent.”
I couldfeelthe entire world sweep out from under me.
This was what I’d been worried about ever since Mrs. Dodge mentioned she had to close up shop.
What ifwehad to close? I knew The Tiny Tiger wasn’t doingwell, but what if we weren’t even given the chance to reach fall and see if things got better?
I swallowed, and my throat felt too dry. “Did it go up a lot? How high is rent now?”
Mom slid the letter across the table toward me. Forcing my feet to move, I walked over and picked it up. My already blurry eyes got even blurrier as I read the little black numbers over and over again.
It was high.Reallyhigh.
“What are we going to do?” I asked, my mind jumping to the cats. Rumple, who went through his first owner dying, then found happiness and a home at the café. Little Bunny, who’d become disabled for life and hopped around on three legs but felt safe staying with us until we could find her a family. All the other cats who counted on the café as a sanctuary.
Me, who needed it too.
“Don’t cry, Lucy,” Mom said, mistaking my red-rimmed, allergy-watering eyes for tears and pulling me into a tight hug. “We’re going to be okay—you said the café’s been doing well this summer, right?”
Ihadtold her that. My stomach churned. “Well...”
“I hate asking you this, because youknowI want you to be able to decorate your dorm and spend your hard-earned money on yourself, but do you think you could give up your wages just for this month?” She pulled away from me to look down at the bill again and grimaced. “And next month? That could help the numbers. I can make it up to you later, but we won’t get through till the fall unless—”
“I’ve already been giving up my paycheck,” I blurted out.
Mom’s jaw dropped. She shook her head slightly, like she misheard me. “What?”
I knitted my fingers together nervously. “You can’t add it to the total of what we have because it’s in there already.”
“But why?” Mom asked, perplexed. “That’s supposed to be foryou.”
I was about ready to actually cry, not just look like it because of my allergies. “I had to,” I whispered. “Everyone’s going to Espresso Inc. I’m having trouble getting cats adopted out. It’s been, like, the worst summer ever.”
“But you said we were getting reservations, and—”
“I lied,” I admitted, feeling small and stupid.
Mom shook her head, angry and confused all at once. She’d never looked so disappointed in me. “But why, Luciana?”
“Because I wanted to be there for you,” I admitted. “I didn’t want you to worry. I thought I could take care of everything.”
The belief I’d been riding all summer suddenly sounded so weak and laughable. When I first took on the café, I’d felt so grown up and confident. Now I felt like I was six years old again, fessing up to my mother about a mess I made.
“You’ve been through so much with your leg, and I thought I was handling things and didn’t want to add to your problems,” I added. Mom opened her mouth, but I pushed ahead. “Don’ttell me it’s nothing, becauseI see you.” Mom let out a shaky exhale, looking caught. “I see the way you’re sore after physical therapy and how slow you move now and how frustrated you are because you can’t be doing what you love.” I shut my eyes. “Because you trusted what you loved tome.”
Which I was supposed to protect.
