Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 70376 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 352(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70376 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 352(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
Mom fetches her purse from the side table. “I have a thing at the church.”
“So you didn’t want to take me after all,” I say.
Her smile is brief. “I knew you wouldn’t let me. That’s why I asked Leif.”
“You and Leif talk?” I ask, tone somewhat incredulous.
“Sure,” he says, leaning against the living room doorway. “Denise and I are old pals.”
“Less use of the word old, thank you,” reprimands my mother.
“Sorry.” He crosses his arms. “We’re house shopping, huh?”
“Looking at apartments to rent.”
A nod. “Don’t worry, I borrowed Clem’s SUV. You won’t have to try to hop on the back of my bike in your pretty dress.”
It’s a simple green maxi dress with a cream cardigan and matching sandals. I’d like to think it says responsible adult who pays her own bills and won’t trash your property, but it probably just says I couldn’t be bothered with pants. Such is life. He’s wearing an old The Clash tee, black jeans, and sneakers. His hair is tied back into a man bun that my fingers itch to tousle. There it is again. The bad and wrong thoughts. All of this makes me wonder when I started feeling so distinctly unattached. So single. It’s weird.
When I woke up from the coma, Ryan’s was the first face I wanted to see. I know that much. But when the truth of what he’d been up to came out, followed by all of his excuses, which were then superseded by his attempts to gaslight me, things changed. Dramatically. Guess my love for him was conditional after all. Conditional upon him not treating me like shit. Though inconvenient thoughts of my new male friend does not mean that I’m ready to start dating or actually attempt a relationship with someone. The whole idea just freaks me out. I need time to grieve the end of the relationship. A chance to pull myself together and figure out where all of this leaves me.
So first up, I shall go seeking domestic independence in the form of an apartment.
“Best of luck, sweetheart,” says Mom, waiting to lock the front door. She sure is in a rush. Also, she’s wearing a rather dapper black pantsuit with a fancy lace camisole underneath. Curiouser and curiouser.
“You’re going to a church thing?” I ask.
She nods.
“I’ll see you later then.”
“Yes.” And she’s gone. Huh.
Leif and I head toward a black Jeep waiting in the driveway. Like a gentleman, he opens the passenger-side door for me. Someone raised him right.
“How about that gleam in Denise’s eye,” he whispers as I climb into the vehicle. “Your mom is totally going for a hookup with your dad at some fancy hotel in town.”
“What?” I do not screech. It just kind of sounds that way. Unfortunately.
“I’m just guessing. I could be wrong.” He closes the door and jogs around to the other side of the vehicle. “Were you unaware that your parents still have sex?”
“No, but—”
“They’re not that old, Anna. And with you in the house, I can understand why they might want to get away for a little privacy now and then.”
“I know that, but—”
“Gotta admire them for it, really.”
“Would you stop interrupting me and let me finish?” I ask, aggrieved.
“Sorry.” He starts the engine and backs us out of the driveway. “You were saying?”
“I don’t know,” I say, clutching my purse and my list of addresses. I’d probably be clutching my pearls if I actually owned any. “You’ve got me all flustered. Give me a minute to get my brain back on track. And stop talking about my parents having sex. It’s weirding me out.”
He laughs all low and dirty like. “You sweet, innocent naïve creature.”
“Yes, that’s exactly what I am. And I texted you the other day to ask how you were and to talk smack about pickles,” I remember out of nowhere. “So there. I did not completely go into hiding.”
“But when I answered, did you text me back?”
“Maybe not. I wasn’t sure what to say. Then I overthought it and it all sort of went to hell so I gave up. I mean, what if I said the wrong thing. Or if whatever I said was taken the wrong way due to lack of context? Communicating with people is hard sometimes.”
“Wasn’t communicating with people part of your job?”
“Actually, Celine handled most of the front desk management. I was more out back concocting schemes and handling paperwork.”
“Huh.”
“The truth is, I’m still mildly horrified about the kiss,” I admit. “And then I overthink everything and get worried that you are kind of different from the people I’m used to dealing with. Not in a bad way. To the contrary, in a very good way. But still different. I’m not always sure how you’re going to react.” I pause to take a breath, not blathering at all. “Not that I believe you’re going to be harsh or anything. I just worry sometimes, and then I feel awkward, and then I kind of spiral.”