As Nathan’s fingers tap-tap-tap, a server drops off the check. Not once looking up, not stopping to think or missing a beat, Nathan tucks his card into the leather billfold. This tiny action is as bothersome as the parenting, if not more so. There’s zero expectation for me to pay. Sure, Nathan makes more—and any outsider would conclude I benefit handsomely from it—but it serves as a stark reminder of my place. In every way, I need Nathan. I need him to keep me from drugs. I need him for shelter, for food. Most important, I need him for life. Nathan is the reason I breathe.
