Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 85888 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 429(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85888 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 429(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
“Like a self-fulfilling prophecy.”
“Exactly.”
I thought it all over for a minute. “Oh my God. You lied to me.”
“What?”
“You don’t just want to be friends. You want to be more than that.”
“Susie, no.” He sighed. “I do just want to be friends. I’ve given this a lot of thought and even if I could get past you being involved with my best friend—”
“Ugh. Don’t remind me. Such a lapse in judgment.”
“—I still believe that we’re better off as we are. Hanging out and enjoying each other’s company without a whole lot of fuss. This works, right?”
“It does.” I smiled. “And you’ve obviously thought this through and I respect that. Though I would like to point out that I wasn’t in fact suggesting we start dating.”
“Noted.”
“All of this open and honest and free flowing communication feels very healthy and I’m sure we have a long and happy friendship ahead of us,” I said with a smile. “Out of curiosity, have you ever had a female who was just a friend before?”
He thought it over for a moment. “No, I haven’t.”
“Truly these are challenging times. I’m just sorry that my side boob distracts you.”
“You’re enjoying this way too much. Isn’t there something about me that distracts you?” And the man totally flexed his deltoids and biceps. What a show pony.
“No,” I lied, pushing back from the edge. “I’m good. Thanks.”
* * *
Monday came around along with the rain. Lars and I painted the living room in mostly companionable silence. Mateo and Connor were away at another job.
I had found an old Pioneer record player in the basement behind a stack of boxes, and Ray Charles and Bing Crosby were now taking turns crooning, and all was well. It was possibly the best thing I’d found in the house so far. Apart from Aunt Susan’s debutante photo. Eighties formal dresses were the definition of extra. But her smile in the shot was sublime.
“Best to paint from top to bottom. That way you catch any drips and work them in as you go,” said Lars, watching me with a practiced eye. “Maybe just a bit less on the roller.”
“Okay.”
He got back to work on the wall above the fireplace.
“What’d you do yesterday?” I asked.
“Caught a Mariners game.” A frown crossed his face right before he spoke, leading me to believe that it would not be in my best interest to ask who he’d gone to said game with. “What about you?”
“Work and more sorting of stuff.” I stepped back and looked at the wall. “This navy blue is so much better than the frog skin.”
“Glad you like it.”
My phone buzzed in the back pocket of my old paint-splattered jeans. A picture of my father flashed on-screen, which was odd. We were special-occasion communicators. Usually just birthdays and major holidays. For a second I froze. Then I set down the roller and headed into the kitchen for a little privacy. “Dad, is everything okay?”
“Yes, yes. Just thought I’d give you a call.”
“That’s nice. How are you? How was Mexico? Though that was a while back now, wasn’t it?”
“It was wonderful, honey,” he said. “But it was a company retreat. Lots of meetings and team-building exercises. There wasn’t much time for playing tourist.”
“That’s a pity.”
“Listen, I haven’t got long. I just wanted to ask if you had a chance to consider what we talked about last time.”
“Um.” I rubbed my damp palm down the side of my dodgy painting pants. “About investing in stock?”
“No. About sharing the inheritance with your brother.”
“Hold on,” I said. “As I recall, you said it was a pity Aunt Susan hadn’t felt as benevolent toward Andrew.”
“That’s right.”
“I was supposed to deduce from that that you wanted me to give my brother money?”
Dad cleared his throat. “He’s looking at branching out and starting his own business and could use the cash. It’s the sisterly thing to do.”
“Because Andrew was such a help to me when I started my own business.”
“Susie, sarcasm does not suit you.”
As if to prove the inherent idiocy of his statement, I doubled down. “And he was always so good about visiting Aunt Susan and wanting to be a part of her life. I’m sure not leaving him anything was just an oversight on her part.”
“There’s no need for that, honey. He made his mistakes and he regrets them now.”
“Oh my God.” I laughed. “Are you actually suggesting Andrew should have sucked up to Aunt Susan in the hopes of landing some money when she died? That’s awful. She’s your sister.”
“Of course I don’t mean it that way,” he snapped. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“If he’s so desperate for funds why don’t you donate to the cause?”
Silence.
“Oh. You already did. Which is funny, because when I was starting out with my business you told me it was too soon and questioned whether I even knew what I was doing. Which, between you and me, was kind of the opposite of being helpful, Dad.”