Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 87275 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87275 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 436(@200wpm)___ 349(@250wpm)___ 291(@300wpm)
“When is she getting married?”
I hold out a plate, and Mom plops a piece of pizza on it.
“Next fall,” I say. “I’m sure it will be magical and wonderful. I can’t imagine Jeremiah letting her have anything but a fairy-tale wedding.”
Mom’s shoulders stiffen as she takes a slice for herself. I ignore the bubble of uneasiness in my stomach.
Despite all our differences, one thing Mom and I share is our wariness of happy endings. Marriage was tumultuous and constraining for her. Falling in love with my father meant suffering through affairs and making herself vulnerable in a way that wasn’t just uncomfortable but also unhealthy. Watching them struggle to like each other when they were supposedly in love wasn’t healthy nor fun for me. And then my father turning his back on me post-divorce, post-tuition, was devastating. Neither of us has had a good experience in relationships since.
Mom can’t talk about weddings and relationships without growing tense, and she’s written both off completely. In her mind, there isn’t a man in the world worth the risk of being destroyed yet again.
I’m different. I love the idea of weddings and relationships. I’m just not sure either is for me … and I’m afraid to dream of the possibility.
“I hope she gets herself a good attorney before signing a prenup,” she says, heading back to the living room.
“I’m sure she’ll protect herself.”
“Love can make people too trusting. You should ask her if she has lawyered up. Tell her I know a few good ones if she needs a recommendation.”
“I’m not bringing up a prenup with my best friend when she just got engaged,” I say, taking my seat again. “If I felt like I had to jump into protection mode, I would’ve said something to her before now. I wouldn’t be a Jeremiah fan at all.”
She takes a bite of pizza, chewing a little rougher than necessary. “So you like Jeremiah?”
“Yeah. He’s good to her. He’s not just her fiancé, and he’s not just her friend.” I take a bite and consider what I’m trying to say. “They’re a team. Equals. He wants her to succeed as much as he wants to be a success himself.”
“That’s what you think now. Wait until a year has passed, and the sex isn’t fun anymore, and real life hits them.” She sighs. “I hate to be a Debbie Downer here, but someone has to be the voice of reason.”
My lips twist at the irony of Mom being the voice of reason.
“Speaking of fun sex, has Donovan called you?” she asks with a little grin.
Of course, she’s suddenly engaged in the conversation. We’re talking about sex, not something as silly as my unemployment.
Exhaustion begins to creep into my bones.
“I don’t want to talk about this with you,” I say, although I’m certain she won’t drop the subject.
“So has he called?”
I sigh. “A couple of times, but I didn’t answer. Once I’m done, I’m done, you know.”
She chuckles. “Yes, I know. And you better be careful, or you’ll end up alone like me.”
“Who knows? I might.”
Mom sets down her plate and picks up her wine, settling back against the cushions. “Is that what you want? To be alone? Seeing your friends marry and start families isn’t making you want the same thing?”
She eyes me carefully, almost as if she’s afraid of my answer.
My chest pulls tight as I consider her question—one that I’ve been mulling over for a while. A part of me thinks that if I found Mr. Perfect, getting married and having babies would be the endgame. The idea of having the standard fairy tale like Sutton is exciting … for a moment. Then it makes me sweat.
Even when I consider having a family, I immediately envision the end. Where there’s black, there’s white. There’s a sun and a moon—a start and an end.
It’s the end that stops me from heading down that path.
It’s the end that I fear.
“I don’t know what I want,” I say when I realize she’s waiting for an answer. “But it doesn’t matter because unless I found the absolute perfect man, I wouldn’t entertain settling down.”
Her body dips into the cushions. “Good. Now, let’s talk about something else. What did you do today?”
Thank God. “I had a couple of interviews, then I met Sutton at The Swill.”
“What’s that?”
“A little bar near Jeremiah’s and her house. She said it was a dive bar, so I went in like this.” I motion toward my cutoffs and shirt. “Let’s just say there was not one neon sign in the whole place.”
She smiles. “Yikes.”
“I know. And then Ripley Brewer walked in …”
Mom’s icy glare freezes the words as they tumble past my lips.
Shit.
The mention of his last name cools the warmth of the evening. It doesn’t matter how fired up I get about him, it won’t be enough to thaw Mom’s response. I always forget she hated them first—that she hated them before I even knew them.