Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 97417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
The only other option wasn’t something he wanted to think about.
He swallowed without tasting the chicken.
There was no denying it. He missed Ansel. He missed his voice, his scent, the feel of his body as he moved. He missed his dancer’s laugh, his smart-ass remarks, and killer smirk. Reality was dull compared to the dream he’d been living. It had lost all its shine.
If he hadn’t been constantly surrounded by curious eyes since Sunday morning, he probably would have broken down and cried like a baby. But he’d never shed a tear for a lost relationship before and he didn’t want to start now.
Later, he was in the kitchen helping his mother load the dishwasher.
“Are you sure you’re not coming down with something?” she asked.
He scraped the food he hadn’t been able to finish off his plate and rinsed it in the sink. “I just didn’t have much of an appetite today. It’s nothing you have to worry about. How’s Pop?”
“Don’t try to change the subject, young man.”
He stacked the cups in the machine. “Ma, I’m fine.”
“Is it relationship trouble?” Her question made him pause. He looked up to see her smug smile. “I knew it.”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Too bad.”
He sighed. Knowing his mother, she wouldn’t let him leave until she was satisfied. “Okay, I was seeing someone. Now I’m not.” He shrugged and went back to filling the dishwasher.
“Oh, honey, what happened?”
“It just didn’t work out. We were too different, I guess. I don’t know.”
“Nonsense.”
He added the soap and closed the door to start the cycle before meeting his mother’s expectant gaze. “I guess the relationship wasn’t as serious as I’d thought.”
“How long have you been dating?”
“A couple weeks.”
“Fitch—” his mother began.
“I know, I’m sorry I didn’t mention it sooner.”
“Oh, stop, I don’t care about that.”
“You don’t?”
“I don’t need to know every girl you go out with. You’re a grown man.”
He didn’t reply so she continued, “So, I take it she was seeing other people?”
He rubbed a palm over his face. The truth was a sharp-edged stone behind his teeth. He, not she. But the time for that confession had long passed and saying it now wouldn’t bring anything but confusion. “Ma, it doesn’t matter. It’s over.”
She was quiet for a minute and he thought she might be done questioning him. But when she was finished putting the leftovers away she turned and said, “Did I ever tell you about the time I cheated on your father?”
“What?” He glanced toward the living room to make sure his father was out of hearing range.
“Calm down, it was a long time ago. We’d only gone on three dates. It was the way things were back then, free love and all that. I wasn’t always a mother, honey. I had a life before marriage and children.”
He tried to picture his dowdy mother decked out in hippie flowers and rainbows but couldn’t manage it. “I don’t need to know this crap, Ma.”
“My point is, you are so much like your father. He is the committed sort too, always has been. But I was a wild child back then. If he hadn’t given me a reason to change, who knows where we’d all be today. If you think this person is the one, don’t give up so easily. People can surprise you.” She rubbed his shoulder and left the kitchen. Through the archway leading to the living room, he watched her lean down and kiss his father on the cheek. The love that transformed his father’s face was pure and timeless. When the old man reached up and pulled her down to his lap, she giggled like she was twenty years younger.
Fitch had always thought of his parents as the perfect couple, but he’d never really paid attention to the hard work they put into the relationship. His mother’s words repeated in his mind.
People can change.
The question was, who should do the changing?
* * *
Ansel handed over the cash and took the bottle of whiskey from the cashier. Ange’s voice had haunted him the entire day, whispering softly in the back of his mind, making him question everything. He’d avoided going back to the apartment because she was leaving and he couldn’t bring himself to face that special sort of pain. Typical. He was always trying to escape something, wasn’t he? But it was late now and he didn’t want to get drunk on the street again. As soon as he unlocked the door, he knew Ange was gone. The air felt different, colder. He shivered as he crossed to the kitchen table and sat with his bottle.
With a twist of the top, the stringent sweet and smoky scent of failure and loss filled his senses. But before he could take his first sip, he spotted Ange’s apartment keys on the table.