*on hold* Until Callan moved in next door, Presley was one hundred percent, completely fine with how her life was turning out.
She never regretted dropping out of college or wasting her days working in a diner for minimum wage. Boredom never plagued...
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The color drained from my face as I looked down at the quote in my hand. I knew renovating wouldn't be cheap, but I wasn't expecting this. It was the second quote I'd received to replace all the windows, and it was way more than I'd planned for.
Considering almost everything I'd done so far was over budget, I had to reign things in. I didn't want to cheap out - quality was important - but the dollar amount glaring at me felt like a punch to the gut.
"You okay?" Austin asked. He found me in the basement, slumped over the makeshift counter, head in my hands.
I groaned. "Just fucking peachy."
Austin snatched the paper from my hands, his eyes widening. "Jesus. I could buy a new car for this much."
Ignoring him, I pulled my phone from my back pocket and brought up my banking app. My pulse ebbed when I saw the dollar amount. This was the lowest number I'd seen in years. As my breathing quickened, I tried to remind myself that I was being irrational. I had investments. I was smart with money. And what I had was more than enough to get by on. Still, after a life of grasping for every penny, it was hard for me not to panic.
Growing up, I learned quickly that having money was a privilege, not a right. My father often chose the casino over the heating bill, or sports bets over our rent. It felt like we were always treading water, fighting for air among the tireless bills and debt collectors.
By the time I was thirteen, I spent four nights a week behind the counter at a video store. Back in the days of VHS tapes, five cent candies, and crane games, I worked my ass off. Every cent I made went straight into a clear glass jar that I hid under my bed because 'banks weren't a safe place to store my money'.
At least, that's what Dad told me as often as he got the chance. 'Don't trust them,' he'd say. This was back when I still trusted the man who was supposed to look out for me.
One day, I went to take a few bills out of my savings to buy my eleventh grade girlfriend a birthday gift. I didn't even make it to my bed before I saw it - my savings jar - lying haphazardly on the floor of my room, completely empty. The blood drained from my face in the same way my own father drained me dry. Thousands of dollars, countless hours worked - all flushed down the toilet.
We'd barely been able to pay our power bill that month, but Dad thought betting on his favorite team was more important. Something was always more important.
So now as an adult, I made sure I was never in a position where paying bills might be a challenge. I had a minimum amount in my bank account at all times, and I'd never dipped below that number. Until now. This project was quickly spiraling out of my comfort zone.
I felt a hand on my shoulder. "It's going to be okay, Cal," Austin said quietly, in a voice he reserved for serious moments only. "I know this sort of thing stresses you out, but you know you're going to be fine. This was the risk you took when you bought the lake house. You're more than equipped to handle this."
