Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 99545 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 498(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99545 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 498(@200wpm)___ 398(@250wpm)___ 332(@300wpm)
I laugh, this whole conversation bordering on ridiculous but cheering me up just the same. The chips help, as does the movie, and before I know it, I’ve forgotten about my issues with Kaylee and the storm beyond these walls.
Jack and I remain on the couch, in the same spots, for another three hours—we finish this movie and watch another, the entire afternoon filled with live-action drama. It’s dark not only outside but in this room; none of the lights have been turned on while we’ve been sitting here, and when I check the time, I discover that it’s past eight o’clock.
“Shoot, I was going to call my parents.” I shove his feet off my legs so I can stand. “I have to tell them about you.”
“Tell them about me? What will you say? How handsome your new roommate is, how debonair?”
Only Jack would use the word debonair to describe himself. If this were the 19th century, he would likely deem himself a dandy as well.
“Yes, that’s exactly what I want to tell them—that you’re so handsome and cute.”
“Really?” His brows shoot up.
“No.” I laugh. “They still don’t know I’m living with you—or living with a guy specifically. I’m not sure how they’re going to feel about it.”
My parents are very conservative, but I think once I tell them what happened, they will be understanding. Nothing has changed except my address.
“Oh.” He looks disappointed. “You should get on that then.” He sits up, and his feet hit the carpet as he yawns and stretches as if rising from bed after a long night’s sleep. “I suppose I should jump in the shower.”
Together we flick a few random lights off, check the locks on the doors as we head toward the upstairs. It’s a companionable partnership I hadn’t counted on when I agreed to move in. Easy.
Safe.
Fun.
No pressure from Jack to be anything but myself. We can talk or not talk; he doesn’t care. The house is beautiful, and he’s a great dude—we like each other. Probably more than I liked Kaylee, and that’s saying a lot.
Or maybe it isn’t since she’s a shithead.
I go to my room, closing the door gently, not wanting to disrupt the peaceful quiet that has taken over the house. I go through my evening routine in my cute little bathroom, washing my face and putting on moisturizer, throwing my hair into a messy bun on the top of my head before putting my pajamas on and climbing onto the mattress.
I don’t slide beneath the covers when I go to call my mom and dad. Instead, I lean my back against the wall, using a pillow for comfort.
The phone rings and goes to voicemail. I try again.
“Hey,” my mom says when she finally answers the phone. “How’s my baby girl doing?”
“Doing good,” I say with a smile. I love it when she calls me baby girl. Plus, the sound of her voice always makes me happy—unless she’s yelling at me of course.
Ha!
“It’s late, Liza. Is everything all right? How is school?”
“School is fine.” I pick at the comforter with my fingers. “Everything is okay, classes and everything. But I did call to talk to you about something if you have a minute.”
“Does Dad need to be on for this?” she asks. “I can put you on speaker.”
I actually hate being on speakerphone; it’s the worst. “No it’s fine.”
Mom is silent as she waits for me to say what I’ve called to say, and I swallow nervously.
“Sweetheart, what is it?”
I need to talk so she doesn’t assume the worst. “So, things with Kaylee aren’t great.”
If you could hear a person nod through a phone, I would hear my mother do so.
She waits for me to continue.
“We got into this huge fight. Well, she fought—I just stood there mostly, defending myself.”
Mom hums. “That’s not good.”
“No, it wasn’t good.”
“What was the fight about?”
“Honestly? A boy.”
“A boy?” I can hear the surprise lacing her voice. “What boy?”
“A friend of mine that Kaylee has—had—a crush on.”
“Ahh. That makes sense, she has always been a bit boy crazy.”
I pull a face. “We don’t know that. I’ve only lived with her a few years.”
“Fine. All I meant was she seems like the sort.”
Now is not the time to tell my mother she’s stereotyping my former roommate, jumping to judge her because I have a beef with her. It’s her way of supporting me without knowing the root of the problem.
I continue with my story. “So anyway, she likes this guy, and I became friends with him. Which led to a blowup, and she kicked me out.”
“She kicked you out because of some guy?” Mom’s voice has grown hard. “Wait—what exactly does that mean she kicked you out?”
“Kaylee told me she wanted me out. Gone. Like, out of the house.”
“For the night?”
“No—basically they evicted me.”