Total pages in book: 119
Estimated words: 112638 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 563(@200wpm)___ 451(@250wpm)___ 375(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112638 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 563(@200wpm)___ 451(@250wpm)___ 375(@300wpm)
Rhys tells me there’s a job waiting for me at the local high school, and now that I’m working with youth, I’m starting to seriously consider it.
Is that what I wanted to do with my life when I was a teenager? No. I wanted to act. To be onstage. But dreams change. People morph into different versions of themselves. And comfort is . . .
Terrible, Arsène’s voice completes in my head.
When the call from the OB-GYN arrives, and they ask me to come back to the clinic, I don’t fall apart like I imagined I would. I book a time, inform my mother and my sisters, put on a sunny dress, and grab my keys.
I have a love story to direct.
People need me.
Arsène was right. Commitment is bliss.
One month turns into three. Arya calls every week to ensure I’m okay and cement to me that she is not angry for bailing on her charity. Chrissy goes a step further and pays me a visit. It is a charged, albeit pleasant one. She is still unhappy about my decision to up and leave. She was the one who stayed behind to clean up my mess. But I’m also encouraged by the fact she is truly more than just an agent. That she made the trip to Mulberry Creek to see me even though my future at her agency is hanging by a thread.
We go out for a girls’ night in Nashville.
“Welcome to our Broadway.” I stretch my arms as I take her through the neon-soaked streets of Nashville. The redbrick, low-built buildings are laden with signs of guitars and beer. It might not be as ritzy as New York, but it’s entertaining. We enter a honky-tonk hole-in-the-wall where the floor is sticky and the playlist consists of Blake Shelton and Luke Bryan only.
We knock back shots, order a basket of beer-battered mushroom caps, and wash them all down with a local brew. While sucking on her electric cigarette, Chrissy tells me she is seeing someone. That he lives in Los Angeles and that she is considering moving there.
“It’s been on your agenda for a while.” I sip my ice-cold beer. “Moving west. Maybe it’s the final sign you should take the leap.”
“Maybe. We’ll see.” Chrissy frowns. “What about you? Please tell me you’ve been seeing someone and that you’re no longer obsessing over him.”
When she says him, I immediately think of Arsène, even though I know it is Paul she means.
“I’m not obsessing over him,” I confirm, which is true. About Paul, anyway. “But I’m not seeing anyone either. Just figuring out fertility stuff. Life-plan things.”
We talk some more. She doesn’t ask about the tests, and I don’t volunteer any information. I’m not embarrassed per se. Just a little more guarded than I was in New York, when I saw everything through the red-hot and frantic haze of the possibility I’d never be a biological mother.
I want to bring Arsène up in the conversation. To ask if she’s spoken to him lately. I know he found out my address through her. I would love to have a crumb of information about him. Anything would do. Now that I haven’t heard from him in months, I hate myself for every second I didn’t appreciate when he was here in Tennessee. I should’ve prolonged it somehow. Invited him in for dinner. Asked about the videos. What he thought of them.
I was so busy being on the defense that I didn’t have time to enjoy his proximity.
He came to drag you back to New York by the ear, I remind myself. Hardly a grand romantic gesture.
“Hello? Win? Are you there?” Chrissy snaps her fingers in front of my face.
I sit up straight. “Yeah. The shots got me, I think.”
“Did you hear anything I said?” She knots her arms over her chest.
“Something about Jayden, right?” Jayden is her new boyfriend.
She rolls her eyes, sighing. “All right, spill. What is it?”
“What’s what?” I blink, confused.
“What is it you’ve been wanting to say and/or ask since I got here? I know you’re holding out on me.”
I worry my lip. A telltale sign I am beyond nervous. But ultimately, I can’t stop myself.
“Have you spoken to Arsène at all?” I blurt out.
She sits back, smiling like the cat who got the cream. “Ah, Arya owes me fifty bucks. My senses never fail me.”
“Arya?” I blink, confused. “Why did you talk to Arya about this?”
“Well, initially, she didn’t think it’d be a good idea to give Arsène your address. Said he was a grade A bully. But I thought there was more to it. A man doesn’t up and leave to chase after an employee. It takes passion to arrive somewhere uninvited.”
“And what did you tell her?” I demand.
“That as far as I know, you and Arsène had a cordial, professional relationship and shared some notes about your late loved ones, but that’s the extent of it. She agreed with me.”