Page 123 of Hate You More

Chapter 35

Troy

I can’t afford to like you too much.

Her words, but I feel the sentiment deeply as I stare at shit on my desk. Summary notes of our last investor briefing. Revenue projections for Q4. A fraud exposure report. A stack of analyst notes I haven’t gotten around to reading. And that’s without the half dozen open tabs on my laptop. Daily transactions, the revenue run rate; the list of daily checks goes on and on.

But I just can’t focus, not without thoughts of Clara sneaking in. The things I want from her that make no sense. The time I feel slipping through the hourglass.

Fuck it. I force it all away and reach for my phone to make the call I’ve been putting off since Mom got back from her cruise. Maybe this’ll help me pull my head out of my ass.

I lean back in my chair as the call connects, a soft smile curling at the sound of my mother’s voice.

“How’s my favorite boy?”

“Hugo? He’s just fine. Max, too, if you’re interested.”

My mother gives a gentle chuckle. “You know who I’m talking about.”

“Hannah does have a huge set of balls on her but . . .”

“Khallas!” she chastises playfully. “Don’t speak to your mother like this!”

“Sorry, Ma. I’m fine.” Other than feeling a little touchy about making this call to you. How the fuck am I gonna explain this? My mother might not be into the financial press or gossip sites, but this isn’t the kind of news that will stay away forever. And, truthfully, I’m in need of a little perspective. Maybe a reminder of what we went through might help drag my ass back to reality.

“You sound tired.”

It’s a familiar refrain. You look tired. You’re too thin. Are you sure you’re eating? You need a wife. But not this one, right?

“I’m fine, Ma.”

“You work too hard. You should’ve come on the cruise with me!”

“Ah, no.” My idea of a nightmare.

“You need to take some time, Troy. Work will wait for you.”

If only. “This job isn’t so bad. At least I don’t have calloused hands, and my back isn’t breaking.”

“There is no shame in manual labor. Your position in life now is much more tiring.”

“I’m not working for some thankless boss,” I say, defensive.

“Maybe not a boss but you have all those people you answer to. The board, the shareholders. I’m just saying you ought to take a little time for yourself, ya Sanadi.”

I feel my expression soften. My backbone. It’s something she’s called me since I was small. At least, out of my father’s hearing when he was around. A child is the source of a mother’s strength, she once explained. The reason she was able to break free from him. And now I’m the strength that supports her. But that’s my pleasure, not a chore.

“I do take time. I have.” More and more recently. Time where I lose myself in Clara. Back to the reason for this call. “Listen, Ma, I have something to tell you, but I don’t want you to worry or anything.”

“That’s not how parenthood works, especially with an opener like that, habibi.”

“I bumped into Clara Forbes.” And now I’m bumping uglies with her, but that’s not the important part of this explanation.

“How is she?” My mother’s voice seems careful, her tone modulated.

“Good. She’s good.”

“That eases my heart.” I hear a little breathy give.