Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 103530 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 518(@200wpm)___ 414(@250wpm)___ 345(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103530 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 518(@200wpm)___ 414(@250wpm)___ 345(@300wpm)
They seemed to remember their twenties as some kind of paradise. Meanwhile, it was the worst decade of my life so far.
It must have been fun, going to college, commiserating with fellow students over important papers and tests. Relishing those last years of relative freedom while knowing a nice, cushy job awaited.
Of course, if I got the job at the dispensary back home that I’d applied for, I’d have a kush-y job to go back to.
I snickered at my own internal joke, then realized everyone probably thought I was making fun of them.
“It’ll happen to you,” Scott warned.
“And you’ll be there to say, ‘I told you so,’ I’m sure.” I rolled my eyes. “Although, I’m not so sure I want to look back on this part of my life as being the best part of my life.”
No job, no money, living in my parents’ guesthouse, none of that screamed “fond memories” at me. But nobody in the room knew anything about that, apart from Scott and Lauren. At least, I hoped they were the only ones; Scott sure seemed to have aired our business to his in-laws already.
“Matt, you’re unusually quiet tonight,” Scott said, changing the subject suddenly.
“Just tired. Late night last night.” Matt sat up straighter in the armchair he’d claimed—though the art-fair-jewelry woman had perched on the arm of it, requiring me to rein in the daggers I wanted to shoot from my eyes. Which was foolish because I didn’t have or want any kind of claim over him.
And I knew what was going to happen tonight, and it didn’t involve her.
To my surprise, Matt went on. “And I didn’t want to pick on Charlotte because she’s the youngest person here. You can all complain as much as you’d like, but we all know that our twenties were shittier than our thirties.”
“Money-wise, maybe,” cellphone-belt guy said with a chuckle. “Though maybe not as shitty for some.”
Matt held up a middle finger.
“Our forties will be so much better,” the woman with color-coordinated braids said. “At least, that’s what I’m betting on.”
“You go ahead and keep betting on that,” frat-looking-dude said. “I’m going to call it a night. I’m sure Manda is about done with watching the kids while I party.”
“Go be father of the year,” Matt chided him. “Earn that stag night.”
“Oh, do not get me started on that,” Lauren warned.
So, she knew of Matt’s reputation.
“Come on. Do you think Scott’s going to do anything to mess this up?” Matt asked, and I thought he might have sounded a little annoyed. It didn’t seem to register with anyone else.
“Good point. You wouldn’t be marrying him if you thought he was that kind of guy,” art-fair agreed, and she reached down to touch Matt’s shoulder.
Why did that bug me so much?
Worse, he caught the expression I must have let pass over my face too quickly, and he raised an eyebrow.
As with most gatherings, once one person called it a night, the rest of them slowly did, as well. I hung around to help collect plates as everyone stumbled off.
Everyone except Matt, who joined me in cleanup long enough to say, “Leave five minutes before me. I’ll meet you on the path.”
A chill skated down my spine. He said goodnight to Scott and Lauren and strolled out onto the veranda and into the night.
Art-fair leaned her head toward Lauren as she watched Matt go. I didn’t overhear what was said, but judging from Lauren’s “Oh, stop it,” and big laugh, it was probably something I didn’t want to overhear.
“You don’t have to do that,” Scott said, startling me. He gestured to the red plastic cups I was stacking for the trash. “There’s housekeeping service.”
“I know there is. But I’m not a butthole,” I said, sticking my tongue out. “I’ll throw these away and then I’ll leave you to whatever it is you’re going to do.” I lowered my voice. “Talk about pottery wheel techniques, maybe?”
He snorted a laugh that told me all I needed to know.
The weird thing was, I wanted to linger. Not because Matt was staying five minutes behind, but because, frankly, I didn’t know what I was going to be walking into.
But I knew for a fact art-fair wouldn’t be able to handle it.
CHAPTER NINE
(Matthew)
I’m here, the text read. Let me know when you need me.
I took a deep breath and slid my phone back into my pocket. This was going to be perfect. It had to be, because Charlotte deserved it, damn it.
I’d seen the way she’d folded in on herself during the conversation about age. Which, frankly, I’d found patronizing as hell. What was it about being almost-forty that made elder millennials so keen to insist their lives were harder than everyone’s who were born after them?
I knew from Scott that Charlotte was still struggling to find herself. I could sympathize; I’d turn forty in two months, and I still hadn’t figured out who I wanted to be when I grew up. The what I wanted to be had been decided for me the moment I became a fertilized egg; the Ashe family ran resorts and spent money. But figuring out an identity alongside that? Well, that was the tricky part.