Playing with Forever

Chapter 46: Credit Cards and Sandwiches

The Monday after our boating day, I spilled soda on my jeans during lunch, forcing me to wear my practice clothes home from volleyball rather than getting back into my sticky pants. Sam met me at home with an irritated expression.

"Why are you wearing those?" he asked, meaning my shorts.

"Because I obviously can't run around without them," I laughed.

"No, I mean, why are you wearing ones that are all ripped up?"

Crap. I didn't want him to notice. "I just wear them at practice. I don't want to throw them out just because they've got a hole or two." I was wearing my spandex under them for modesty.

In other words, I couldn't afford to replace them, not with Nate's birthday last month. I was still struggling without the money I had spent on his presents. I would have just made something, but he'd wanted a certain book so badly (a book that turned out to be eighteen bucks) plus the ten dollars that I had chipped in to buy him some shoes. That was a week of grocery money flat. I was trying as hard as possible not to chip into emergency funds, and I refused to call Mom again so soon and ask for the old child support from the man that fathered me.

However, my crappy shorts made an impression on Sam because he handed me something nonchalantly before school three days later.

"What's that?" I asked stupidly, knowing quite well what it was. I just didn't know why he was handing it to me.

"A credit card."

"Why are you giving it to me?"

"It's yours."

"Huh?"

"Your name," he gestured to the bumpy letters. There it was. ABIGAIL R SHEA. "It's hooked up to my account."

I gaped at him. "Sam, I can't live off your money!"

"You can. You are."

I tried to steady myself, put my thoughts into words he would understand, say it in a way that at least wouldn't offend him even if he didn't get it. "Sam, that is very kind of you, and I appreciate the thought. But let's wait for that." Would he understand that?

Of course not. "Abigail, that is ridiculous."

"No, it's not," I said, trying to force a casual smile. "Come on, just let me have my way. I need time to be independent a while longer before leeching off you."

He didn't smile back. "This is stupid." He was frustrated. Very, very frustrated. He didn't get some things in the least, and I had no way of making him understand. This was one of those things.

"No, it's not."

"My girl will not go around in ripped shorts," he snarled.

I tried to argue, "It's just one pair—"

"Everything, Abigail. You're flat broke. I know why you eat at my house," he accused with a scowl. "I know that you don't eat any other time because you can barely afford it."

I blushed and looked down at my shoes. I didn't know he had picked up on that. I thought it had just looked like I was starting to eat normally again. I had felt bad lying to him about it, but I let it slide, not wanting to get into an argument like that. And I'd only been doing it that month after spending my grocery money on the boys. I usually only half relied of Sam's food.