Total pages in book: 171
Estimated words: 162947 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 815(@200wpm)___ 652(@250wpm)___ 543(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 162947 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 815(@200wpm)___ 652(@250wpm)___ 543(@300wpm)
“I’m finding this hard to understand.”
Now that was genuine. Unguarded even.
“And you think this is about some fucking music video.” The words sound cruel, my demeanour dismissive. “A bit part in some movie I don’t give two shits about. I didn’t tell you—couldn’t tell you for fear of frightening you.”
“I’m not frightened,” she snaps. “Why would I be frightened?”
“You’re not frightened now because I’ve been around long enough for you to know me. To see me for who I am. If you’d known I had money before, you would’ve seen me as having all of the power, you would’ve worried I was trying to take Wilder from you, and I didn’t want that. For either of us.”
“How can you possibly think I know you?” she explodes. “You told me you were staying.”
I spring forward in my seat. “And you told me you wanted nothing to do with me!” I yell right back at her. My words echo around the coffee shop, and all I feel is shame. Raising my voice at Kennedy makes me feel like a fucking failure. I never heard my dad raise his voice to my mum. I guess I’d always aspired to that, even if I never realised until now.
“Look,” I say, flattening my hands on the table. I swallow hard, trying to rearrange my thoughts. “I wasn’t even that interested in the music video, it was just a lark, and sure, I got a bit excited at the chance of movie stardom for about five minutes. But once I clapped eyes on you, once I saw Wilder, everything else faded into the background.”
“You’ll regret it. You’ll come to resent us for not—”
“No.” My chuckle is harsh. “You don’t get it. My dad poured his life into the soil. He had such a passion for his way of life. My grandad before him, he ran a little hardware store until he patented this tool table that still sells like hot cakes around the world.”
“You can’t measure your life by someone else’s standards.”
“I’m not sure you’re in the right position to give me life advice. You hide, little love. You’re frightened. I’ve seen it.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” she mutters, glancing away.
“You’re also missing the point. Since my dad died, since I lost you, my life has been rudderless. I’ve had no direction and no real meaning but plenty of opportunities. Not that I ever felt I deserved it, but I’d always hung on to the belief that I’d find something while bouncing around. Something worthwhile.” Reaching out for her hand, I take it between mine. “Family is worthwhile. Family is everything. It was for my dad and his dad before him. And finding you and Wilder has been like finding out what I’m supposed to do with my life.”
“You can’t find personal happiness in someone else.”
“You sound like you’ve spent too much time on the internet this afternoon.” At that, she pulls her hand back.
“I am angry, and I am hurt,” she says coolly. “You’ve lied to me, and you’ve lied to our son. I feel like this.” She gestures back and forth between us. “You and me? This thing between us has been built on a lie, on a lie, on a lie.” She makes a rolling gesture with her hand that seems to turn my stomach from sand to concrete. “I just don’t think this is going to work.”
34
Kennedy
PRESENT
GRANDMA VISITS
“Skinny cappuccino to go for Laurie,” Jenner calls, like Laurie doesn’t come in for the same coffee every weekday morning on the way into her office.
It’s Wednesday. Five days since I broke up with Roman. Broke up sounds so inadequate for something that makes you feel like you’ve had your heart torn out. The worst of it is that I cracked my own ribs and dug my fingers into my own chest cavity. It must be against the rules to feel sorry for yourself when the wound is self-inflicted.
As troubled as I feel, as much as this sorrow ebbs and flows in waves, Roman’s reaction came as a shock. I guess I’d expected more denials and refusals. Maybe desperate declarations of love. Instead, he’d folded his arms and rested back in his chair, blowing out a long breath. Then he’d just stared at me like he was trying to gain access to my brain.
It's really not worth the effort, I’d wanted to say.
I’d fidgeted under the intensity of those piercing blue eyes, second-guessing myself. What was done was done, wasn’t it? Because the alternative was to tell him the truth. Hand him my fears, let him do with them what he would. But if I’d chosen that path, given my fears over to him only to find he couldn’t carry them, I don’t think my heart would’ve survived. And if he’d told Wilder, how could I ever look my son again in the eye?