Maybe, probably [h.s]

Chapter 3

Harry

"How is it going, Harry?" Annalise asked through the phone. She was always so sweet; it was kind of her to offer me this position for as long as I wanted to work. I had confided in her about needing the money. She knew my mother, and my mother gave a great reference.

"It's great Mrs. Beck, I really appreciate what you're doing for me." I tell her once more.

"Harry, it's no problem, really. Have my daughter call me, would you?" After letting her know I would, she hangs up the phone.

I hadn't really seen much of Fay. I have to say, I felt bad after the wedding. I thought maybe it would make things less awkward if I just acted as if we had just met for the first time. She never confronted me on that, but we both knew. With the nature of me being at her house, employed by her mother, it wasn't something I wanted people knowing. The mates I had grown up with, they each had both parents to help with funds for university. Some of them even had savings and trust fund accounts to support them while in college. I did not. It was something I had to work for. I was okay with that, it gave me purpose and I understand that's how life is sometimes, but it didn't mean I wanted to be different than anyone else. It was embarrassing, to say the least.

From what I knew, Fay was not the type to go around and spread the business of others or tell a story that wasn't hers to share, so I'm not sure what I was so worried about.

These sheets are nice, much nicer than ones I've slept on. You would never know Fay lived this lifestyle. She was very private though school. Very quiet, didn't speak much. She was very smart. It wasn't a bad thing, those qualities. If anything, it was refreshing versus the typical women I was used to. I always thought she was too nice in primary school. Too nice to everyone around her.

My father had left us at a very young age. That left just my mom and I, it's been that way ever since. She cleans houses for a living, that's why I assume I'm so good at it. When she didn't have a babysitter or couldn't take a day off, I would just waddle around with her. And then, as I got older, she would give me a small amount of her daily profits, allowing me to stop at the corner store and pick out something to cure my sweet tooth.

She always taught me well. Just because I had no male role model growing up, didn't mean she did teach me what I needed to know to be a decent man. How to treat a woman, what not to say to a woman. All the fundamentals of being a man. She even put a cheerio in the toilet when I was learning how to wee on my own.

Even though I didn't have a trust fund going for me, I had confidence, and I was outgoing. I had made a decent group of friends through the years. Had my fair share of girls. Truly though, it didn't always help my anxiety. What would I do next? Would I make it through university? If I don't, this was all for nothing. Sleepless nights, crying over nothing. Only on a rare occasion would slipping between a women's legs fix those problems for me. There was nothing after that, I couldn't talk to them or share personal thoughts with them. Maybe I didn't really try hard enough, maybe they felt the same about me.