Total pages in book: 37
Estimated words: 34532 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 173(@200wpm)___ 138(@250wpm)___ 115(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 34532 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 173(@200wpm)___ 138(@250wpm)___ 115(@300wpm)
He pushes back from the table and makes his way to where I’m seated near the fireplace. He seems taller here in the suite, dressed in his neat black suit, and I look to see his jaw muscles harden as he steps just in front of me where I’m touching the exquisite silk on the chair where I’m sitting.
“It would be wonderful.” My mind spins with the possibilities, then I sigh. “But it’s just a silly dream. It can’t be my life.”
“Why not? You just said it, it’s your life.”
“You don’t understand. It would ruin Papa. When my mother left...” My voice threatens to crack as I try to keep it steady. “It humiliated him. He was a junior leader in the church back then, being groomed to be the next preacher. When he returned, married to an outsider, he nearly lost his appointment. He fought hard to convince the elders he was worthy, that my mother would become a valuable member of the community. He became Preacher, not long after my mother had me. For years she tried to be what was expected, but in the end, I guess she just couldn’t. She left, and the community nearly turned against him. He had to fight once again to save his position, which means the most to him of anything in this world. It’s his calling, and something his own parents always wanted for him. If I left? If I didn’t do as expected?” I shake my head. “It would be just another indignity. It’s so much bigger than just me wanting some little food blog. It’s his life too.”
I’m not sure why I’m telling a near stranger all this, but it feels good to talk to him. As if for the first time in my life someone is really listening to me. Someone wants to hear me.
“You are not responsible for what happened to him, Selma. And your suffering doesn’t fix anything either. It just means two of you will suffer, and he has a responsibility to not put his past onto you.”
Before I answer, there’s a knock at the door, and I see Ash’s eyes light up.
“I have a surprise for you.” He runs his hand down from my shoulder to my wrist and grabs on, pulling me toward the door of the suite. “Stand right here.” He stops us about ten feet before the door and sets his hands on my shoulders. “Close your eyes. I’ll tell you when to open them.”
After just a moment of hesitation, I do as he asks, shutting my eyes tight. It might seem strange, but I’ve never done this before. I close my eyes to sleep, not to keep from seeing something. Nobody has ever given me a surprise before. Anticipation tingles my skin as I grab my elbows with each hand, pressing my forearms into my belly, and I hear Ash’s hushed instructions.
“Here. Over there. Set it down...Thank you.”
Then there’s the sound of the door clicking closed, the slip of the lock being engaged, and Ash’s voice whispers into my ear.
“Okay. Open your eyes.”
When I open, Ash is standing there, but surrounding him—on the floor, tables, the kitchen counter, everywhere my eyes land—there are bags and boxes. Some tied with ribbons, some still in store bags.
“What is all this?”
“I know I can’t buy you, Selma. But I can buy you nice things. Things I think you deserve. Things I think you will enjoy. Things that will make you smile. I want to make you smile.”
I see the brand names: Apple, Tiffany, Channel...and my hands fly up to cover my mouth.
Ash reaches over and pulls them away, grinning as he sees the smile on my lips and the happy tears in my eyes. “I said I want to make you smile. Then you’re going to hide it from me?”
“Sorry, I don’t know what to say.”
“Don’t say anything, go start unpacking. There’s clothes, electronics, everything beautiful and useful I thought you could use. Within reason, by which I mean I could have it purchased and delivered today.”
“Wow.” I start to wind my way through the boxes and bags on the floor to the ones on the kitchen counter. I look at the Apple Mac box, the iPhone, tablet...
I unpack bags of clothes more beautiful than I’ve seen in any magazine. There’s sequins and silk. There’s denim and leather. Everything I could never imagine having is right here and real, and the guilt that tries to override my pleasure loses as I decide that it feels good, and that’s enough for now.
“I feel so spoiled!” I half choke as tears burn my eyes. “I don’t deserve all this.”
“You deserve to be spoiled. I want to spoil you, Selma.”
Ash is next to me, then behind me. My skin tingles as he pulls my hair around and over one shoulder, the cooler air of the room on the warm flesh of my neck.