Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 68599 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68599 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
The disdain in her voice as she said the last word was palpable.
I couldn’t count how many times my mother had said that word to me with the same acid in her voice. Qualifications. She hated that I didn’t have a college degree, and in most conversations, she found a way to bring it up.
“I told you and dad,” I said. “I was offered a position at a contracting company. A very reliable one, actually.”
She clicked her tongue. “When you told us you finally quit the farming job, I knew it was finally possible for you to get your career on track. But then immediately it was this contracting job. Contracting? Really, Sawyer?”
“I didn’t quit the job at the farm, I was laid off,” I corrected her. “Red Pinecone Farm is probably going to have to go under within a year, or sell to a corporate—”
“And your father’s firm is offering you a spot that really should go to someone with a business degree at least, if not an MBA, yet you want to do landscaping instead, for far less money?”
I gripped my coffee mug so hard in my fist that for a second I was afraid it would break.
36 years old. I was 36 and my mother still spoke to me like I was a lost teenager, adrift and needing firm guidance.
It was ridiculous.
“My decision is made,” I told her firmly. “It was already made when I told you and Dad about it, to be clear. I’m working for Fixer Brothers Construction, and I’m glad to be there.”
“And your father’s position at the firm? You should be grateful—”
“Dad should hire someone else for the position at his firm,” I told her. “Hell, maybe he can get someone with a shiny, glittering MBA degree.”
There was a tense silence on the phone. For a solid minute, my mother said nothing, and I could picture her perfectly, most likely looking out at the city view from her 20th-story penthouse, quietly blinking with rage.
“Your sister’s doing well,” she said.
That was another tactic of hers: changing the subject completely, usually to brag about someone else and mostly ignore any boundaries I had set.
“I’m glad to hear that,” I said. “I saw Amelia’s photos from her trip to Paris. Looked like she and Brent had a great time.”
“Well, Amelia has earned it,” Mom said. “She works hard and reaps the rewards on her vacations. Your sister has always known what it means to have a true family, too. Oh, you should have seen the matching dresses she had her twins in. Tasteful, too, never tacky. You could learn something from Amelia.”
“Mom, I think I need to hang up soon. I know it’s two hours later in New York, but the sun just came up, here.”
Mom and Dad were true jet-setters, with houses in New York City, South Carolina, and here in Denver. They chose where they wanted to be based on work, seasons, and whims.
“How is everything else, Sawyer?” she asked, blowing right past my attempt to end the conversation. “I only want what’s best for you. A nice woman could put some real direction in your heart. You know my opinion on that.”
I chewed on the inside of my cheek. “I know your opinions on that. Yes.”
“So? Any progress?”
“Progress…”
“Finding someone to build a life with,” she said in a clipped tone. “You have all of these flings, and nothing ever seems to stick. Like I said, of course I only want the best for you.”
I swapped the phone to the other side of my head. “Did you call for any other reason than to criticize every aspect of my life? My dating life is fine, and to be honest, it’s none of your business.”
“I called to remind you that your father has an open position for you at the firm. Not that it seems to have made an impact.”
“I really need to get going now,” I said.
“Sure. Please call more often, Sawyer. Have a wonderful day.”
“Bye, Mom.”
Hearing the beep of the call ending was like being saved by the bell. I sucked in air as I dropped the phone on my bed, and I massaged the back of my neck like I’d just gotten hit in a boxing match.
The bitch of it all was that I knew in my mother’s mind, she really did think she knew what was best for me. She was trying to help, even if she did it in the coldest way possible.
But I’d decided long ago that I wasn’t going to go down whatever path she thought was best for me. I would never work in an office like my dad did. I would never pursue wealth like a bloodhound the way my sister Amelia did, only to marry an equally well-off husband.
So why did I still feel so hollow inside? So rattled, every time she called me? I still felt like I didn’t know how to do anything right in life, even though I knew I’d never live the way my family expected. What was my path?