“I got a raise with the new position,” I say. I still don’t meet his eyes.
“How much of a raise?”
I look at my hands. “Enough of one.”
“Rae.” His voice is sharper now. “Look at me.”
I do. His eyes are searching my face. Even when we were kids, he could always tell when I was lying.
“How much of your paycheck goes to this place?” he asks sternly.
“Most of it,” I admit in a meek whisper. “Almost all of it.”
“Fuck.” He drops his head into his hands. “I can’t let you do that.”
“Yeah, well, it’s not up to you.”
“This is crazy! You’re scraping by on nothing so I can sit here and do yoga and eat fancy salmon.”
I grab his wrist and squeeze. “Hey. Hey. Look at me.”
He lifts his head. His eyes are damp and shiny.
“This is what I want,” I tell him firmly. “You getting better—that’s all th
