Page 4 of The Bad Boyfriend Curse
“That’s Rosie,” Mom says behind me. I didn’t notice that she followed me upstairs. “Jason picked her up from a shelter a few days ago to surprise you. She’s about seven. She’s made herself comfortable in this room. You’ll have to share it with her.”
“She’s adorable,” I say as I move to the bed to pet her soft fur. She immediately rubs her face on my hand. “Jason got her for me?”
“For the family. I told him you’d always wanted one. He had cats growing up.”
Rosie rolls onto her back. She has the sweetest face. I scratch under her chin the way my friend Keeley’s cat likes it, and Rosie starts purring. Ihavealways wanted a cat—anypet, really—but Mom always said no because she worked such long hours, and I was at school or work every day.
“I suppose the cat and the new stuff are a bribe?” I ask. I’m not really mad about the cat, though.
Mom’s shoulders drop. “No. I just… I’ve never been able to spoil you before. It took me three days to clean out all the stuff Jason had stored in here. Three carloads donated to charity. And I remembered that you loved those purple shoes.” She’s rambling, something she does when she’s nervous. Like me.
It’s true she’s never been able to spoil me. I’ve never had expensive earbuds, and my current phone used to be my grandmother’s. “Do you want my old phone?”
She shakes her head. “No. I bought myself a new one too.”
I look down at the cat’s sweet face. I kind of do want to gush and thank Mom for all this effort. Maybe even apologize for being such a brat today.
But her forcing me to be here means she doesn’ttrustme to stay out of trouble in Toronto. And that hurts.
Mom might not have been able to spoil me, but she always trusted me and—I thought—respected me. She wasn’t home that much since she worked long hours, so I was closer to Nani than to her, especially when I was little. I guess Mom and I did get closer when I grew up a bit, but still, we’ve never been super tight like everyone assumes we are since Mom’s so young. But that doesn’t mean she was a bad mother; she was supportive and proud of my achievements. I always felt like she’d be on my side if I needed her to be, even after shestarted dating Jason. But now, she’s the furthest thing from on my side.
I let the silence stretch between us and focus my attention on Rosie instead of looking at Mom.
“She’s sweet,” I finally say, running my hand across the cat’s soft belly.
Mom smiles a little and puts her hand on my shoulder. “I know you don’t want to be here, Meera, but this is your home now too. Maybe you’ll grow to love it.”
I shake my head. I feel the corners of my lips pull down into a determined line. “I doubt that. And I’m only staying for the summer.”
Mom sighs, stepping away from me. “Settle in and rest as much as you can. Your community service starts tomorrow.”
She leaves me alone.
The next morning on his way to work, Jason drives me to the park where I’ll be doing my community service. Even though a good night’s sleep in a cozy bed with a cat sharing my pillow took some of my bitterness away, I’m still pretty quiet. But Jason doesn’t seem to notice; he talks about his house, this subdivision, and this side of town. He points out his brother’s house a few blocks over. It’s even bigger than Jason’s house and is in a modern Victorian style, complete with dormer windows and a tower.
“That’s where Sadie lives,” Jason says, “You remember my niece Sadie from the wedding, right? She’s excited you’re here this summer.”
“Yeah, Sadie seems great,” I say mildly, not mentioning that I only hung out with her at the wedding events because we were the only two teenagers. Her two twelve-year-old brothers didn’t count.
“My brother bought in the subdivision first,” Jason says. “Then my parents bought a house here. They’re not here now; they spend their summers in Spain. I don’t normally like new builds, but these houses are so unique, and since the rest of the family was here, I jumped when the next phase opened up. I had the pool put in right away—swimming is the best exercise. Clears my head, you know? But I like the house so much better now with more people in it.” He turns to me and smiles.
Jason’s not really that bad. He’s just a bit corny sometimes. He’s ten years older than Mom, so he’s the same age as most of my friends’ dads. Jason’s father owns LeClair Industries, an automotive parts manufacturer that’s the biggest employer in Cherrybridge. Actually, the biggest company of any kind here. Jason and his brother both work at LeClair Industries, but Jason is also a town councilor, so he’s only a part-time executive at the company. Mom met Jason about two years ago when he was at a fundraiser in Toronto. He had cut himself with a cheese knife, and Mom bandaged the wound after the doctor stitched it up in the ER. Which is the grossest meet-cute for so many reasons, but when they randomly saw each other in a café the next day, he asked Mom out. They were long distance for a while, mostly seeing each other on weekends, until they got married and Mom moved to Cherrybridge.
It feels so weird that Mom, an Indian single mother from Toronto,marriedthis random rich white guy from a smalltown. Like, she was single for years, she barely even dated, and thenpoof—she has a wedding in a country club and moves to a big house with a pool. My friends call it a modern Cinderella story and say it’s better than the best romance novel, but I don’t buy it. I mean, Mom worked really hard to be independent, and has always taken pride in her job as a nurse, but now she’s saying she wants to be a stay-at-home mom? It just doesn’t make any sense to me because that’s definitely not how she raised me.
Thankfully, Jason hasn’t tried to be a father to me or anything like that. I guess because I’m seventeen, there isn’t any point. I’ll be a legal adult in a year. And for most of my life, Mom always kind of left me to take care of myself, partially because she was working all the time, but also because shetrustedme.
Until now, that is.
He points out some other things on the drive, like a high school and a mall. It all looks small and uninteresting. When we pass right through the downtown core (if you can even call it that), I wonder where exactly this park I’ll be working at is.
“How far are we going?” I ask.
“Gordon Park is near the river. Across Cherry Bridge.”
I laugh. Cherrybridge actually has a cherry bridge? “How am I going to get home? I’m only supposed to stay until two, right?”
“I’ll take a break and pick you up,” he says. “If I’m not here at two, text your mother.”
