Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 108905 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 545(@200wpm)___ 436(@250wpm)___ 363(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108905 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 545(@200wpm)___ 436(@250wpm)___ 363(@300wpm)
“You’re not responsible for meeting my sexual needs. I’m not…” I searched for the right word. “I’m not entitled to you. You’re going through probably the worst thing that is ever going to happen in your entire life—”
He held up his hand. “Please, don’t tempt fate. I couldn’t stand to—” He broke off and covered his eyes with one hand. The gesture might have been because he was tired, but it was more likely that he was crying.
“No, listen, this isn’t a jinxing you thing. I’m trying to say that I know you’re in unimaginable pain. I don’t hold it against you if you’re unable to check out of your mind to fuck me.” I sighed. “I’m not doing this right. All I want to do is have lunch with an acquaintance without you being uncomfortable about it.”
“I’m not uncomfortable with it,” he said, wiping his eyes. He reached for a kleenex on the bedside table. “I’m ashamed that you felt you had to ask me permission to have lunch with a friend. Do you really view me as that broken?”
“Not broken,” I stated emphatically. I’d thought Emma’s death would be the thing that actually did break him, but so far, that hadn’t been the case. “I don’t think anything could ever break you.”
“I appreciate your vote of confidence. But that remains to be seen.” He managed a sad smile. “I love you. Please don’t think that’s changed, even if I’m not expressing it as often lately. You and Olivia are the only… Without you, I couldn’t have made it past that first night.”
A twinge of guilt nagged at me. That first night, I’d enabled his alcoholism as a coping mechanism. As far as I was aware, he wasn’t still drinking. We didn’t have anything in the house that I knew of, but he’d hidden bottles in the past. I made a mental note to ask Julia to keep an eye out while she cleaned. She knew the nooks and crannies of this house better than I did.
“I know you love me,” I reassured him. “I don’t think that’s going to change.”
“I feel the same way. That’s why I don’t mind if you go to see Gena,” he reiterated. “And I think it would be good for you. Even if it did…lead to something.”
“Lead to something?” Now, it was my turn to be incredulous. “I think it would be pretty presumptuous to walk into this expecting an invite for sex.”
“You’re the one who brought it up,” he reminded me.
“Only because I was worried you’d think I was having a secret hook up. I don’t actually think it will come up.”
“Oh, of course. You’re just reconnecting because you’re such good friends and you know each other so well,” he teased.
It was good to be teased, because he didn’t do it as much lately. I leaned over and kissed his forehead and told him, “Shut up, you perv.”
Neil went out just like the lights. We used to cuddle to sleep—or at least hook our ankles together—but these days, I just got a kiss goodnight before he rolled onto his side, turning his back on me.
After a half hour, I accepted the fact that I couldn’t sleep. I texted Neil’s phone with my intended whereabouts, slipped on my yoga pants, and messaged Mom.
Can I come down or do you have a hot date?
She replied almost immediately: My hot date is sleeping. Why aren’t you?
Why aren’t you? I shot back.
When she replied again, it just said, Come down.
Walking to the guesthouse was out of the question in the February cold. I bundled up in my coat and went to the garage. Neil’s collection of exotic supercars were housed in a big hangar elsewhere on the property, but our day-to-day vehicles—the ones I actually knew how to drive—were parked at the house. I grabbed the keys to my car, a Jaguar Neil specified as an “F-type”, though he could have just been cursing creatively. He’d bought it for me for my birthday, though he’d tried to talk me into something more flashy and powerful. I’d picked it entirely on looks, which drove Neil nuts.
I pulled down the driveway, not bothering to turn the heat on, because the engine wouldn’t even warm up in the minute it took to get where I was going. The guesthouse was an adorable two-story that matched the main house in style. Back home in Calumet, homes like it were few and far between, and would have cost in the upper six figures there. With three bedrooms and two-and-a-half baths, it seemed like more of a single-family residence than a place for the occasional visitor. Even though it was close to us, pine trees surrounded it, giving Mom some privacy and isolation. And it looked more like where we used to live.