The word was “Relax.”
It hit me like a slap. Relax? After I bailed him out with my savings—money I was setting aside for a home repair—and he was out living it up by the lake with some shiny new toy? I was seething.
I drove straight to his apartment, barely remembering to throw on real shoes. He lived across town in a modest one-bedroom, and when I pulled up, the sight of his carless driveway only made me angrier.
I knocked harder than I meant to. A few moments later, he opened the door, still shirtless, wearing board shorts, holding a half-eaten popsicle.
“Hey,” he said, like nothing had happened.
