Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 93578 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 468(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93578 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 468(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
“Fuck off, I told you I’d help you with a house. You refused.”
She smiled triumphantly. “I did, and it gave me great pleasure. So thanks for that. Anyway, you covered my student loans, and that was a lot.” She patted my chest. “You get free therapy from me for life.”
“Just what a guy wants, his big sister bossing him around and calling it good for him.”
“Speaking of which, did you call the woman I told you about, Natalia Lopez? The one who does the acceptance and commitment therapy? She’s always booked super far in advance but as a favor to me, she said she’d get you in.”
“No. I don’t call people.”
“Hutton! You didn’t like cognitive behavioral therapy, and this is another option. A different approach. Why not try it?”
“Because I don’t need it.”
“So testifying in front of Congress won’t be a problem then? How many times are they going to let you get away with pushing it back?”
Rather than tell her about the text from Wade, I pretended to throttle her by the neck as we walked into the kitchen, which smelled like bacon and waffles.
My parents sat at the table in their matching track suits, his royal blue, hers bright purple. They were well into their sixties but didn’t look it. My father still had a full head of thick dark hair, which was only slightly gray above his ears, and a bushy brown mustache that was his pride and joy. My mother’s long blond hair, chatty exuberance, and brightly colored clothing made her look more like a Hollywood sitcom psychic than a grandmother.
If anyone asked what their secret was, they had different answers. My father swore it was his hobbies that kept him young—the man had more hobbies than anyone I’d ever known, from gardening to tai chi to his barbershop quartet—and my mother claimed it was their enduring love that kept them so energetic. I think it was a combination of both, since my father’s hobbies often took him out of the house, which he’d once confided was quite conducive to a good marriage.
My niece, Keely, was on my mom’s lap, tearing apart a waffle and shoving it into her mouth like only a two-year-old can. My nephew Jonas, who was four, was squeezing a steady stream of syrup over everything on his plate—waffles, bacon, sliced strawberries. The oldest, Zosia, was six, and she was concentrating hard on cutting her own waffle under my dad’s watchful eye.
“Hutton!” he boomed, glancing at me. “Still coming tonight?”
“Do I have a choice?”
“Nope, I already told the guys you’ll be there.” He grinned. “They’re excited to have a celebrity at the game, but a little worried about your deep pockets.”
“I’m not a celebrity, Dad,” I muttered, taking a coffee cup down from the cupboard.
“They should be worried about him counting cards, not placing high bets,” said my sister, filling up my cup from the pot.
“Hutton has never cheated a day in his life!” My mom was outraged at this attack on my honor. “And he knows that nothing good ever comes from taking a penny you didn’t earn. It brings bad luck.”
My sister and I exchanged a look. Our mother was famously superstitious—which one of my therapists thought explained my belief in magic powers as a kid. He might have been right, but it wasn’t really the breakthrough he thought it was and definitely didn’t merit the price tag of those sessions. Thousands of dollars just to be told our parents can fuck us up? People called cryptocurrency a racket, but therapy was a hundred times worse.
I gave Allie a lot of shit about that.
“But what if you find a penny on the street, Grandma?” asked Zosia. “Isn’t that good luck?”
“Depends if you find it tails or heads side up,” she answered seriously. “The ancient Romans believed if you saw a coin heads up, it was lucky, but if it was tails up, you should turn it over and leave it for the next person.”
My sister laughed. “I’ll keep that in mind in case I come across any ancient Roman coins. In the meantime, I’m gonna predict that being a math genius gives Hutton the edge at the poker table tonight.”
“The only edge being a math genius might give someone at the poker table is knowing they should quit early and go home with all their money,” I said, taking a sip of coffee. “The reason casinos are so huge is because most people have no idea how probability works.”
“Hutton.” My mother was studying me intently, like she was trying to read my mind. This was a habit of hers. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“You don’t look fine.”
“I’m fine, Mom.”
“Look at him, Stan. Does he look fine to you?”
My dad shrugged. “I suppose so.”
“You don’t think he looks sort of pale and sad around the eyes?”