Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 87856 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87856 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
I can take it.
But I don't.
"She was an English major. My older sister was philosophy."
"What does she do now?"
Here it is again. Deidre was a copywriter. Until she died. "She got a job as a copywriter after school."
"Did you read them? The books?"
"Those two, yeah." Almost all of them.
"Which did you like better?"
"The Handmaid's Tale." It didn't offer insight into Deidre's head, exactly, but it did explain a few things. I'm still not sure I understand.
"Yeah, it's a perfect book."
"I liked The Bell Jar too," I say.
"Liked it, really? It's sorta heavy."
"You didn't?"
"I can't decide."
"It was heavy, yeah," I say. "But it helped me understand some shit."
She doesn't ask for extra information.
I don't offer it. "This was my sister's place."
"Not anymore?"
"No." How do I explain this without saying it? "She helped me buy it. Well, her and my parents." She left the place to me. And her life insurance covered the mortgage. That was a requirement of the bank—a policy to pay off the loan, in case of the worst. There was a waiting period for suicide, but she was well past it.
"Nice deal."
"I can't complain."
"Does it come with strings?"
"They say it doesn't, but…"
"You still feel like if you stopped going to Sunday night dinners, they'd stop paying your tuition? Sorry. That's me. And I'd never stop. It's just…"
"Unthinkable."
"Yeah. I have a kid sister," she says. "Julie. I can't imagine not being there for her."
"I bet you're a good sister."
"I try." She looks to the shelf. "Is that her favorite book? Your sister?"
I don't know. "She loved all of them."
"Even the graphic novels?"
"What do you have against graphic novels?"
She laughs. "I don't mean it that way. I just don't see a lot of people who read 'literature' also reading graphic novels. I never really got into them, but I tried. I read all the words too fast. I forget to see the pictures."
"Maybe you need to slow down."
"Probably."
"Borrow one," I say.
"Maybe next time."
"Next time?"
"Unless you don't want me to come over again."
"I do."
"Good. I don't know about every Sunday night, but I do… I do like this," she says. "And the chai is almost done."
Right on cue, the timer beeps.
She turns off the stovetop. "We can let it cool. Strain it after."
"After is good." I carry her to the bedroom.
Chapter Fourteen
IMOGEN
The sex is fantastic. It really is.
For the entire drive to my place, and the walk to campus, I'm completely lost in lust. I miss the first half of the lecture, use my laps to imagine all the things I want to do with Patrick, text Julie on the walk home.
Again, I don't offer any explicit details. But I let her know I'm having fun and I respect her desire to have fun, so long as she talks to me and lets me warn her off bad guys.
She rolls her eyes (I can see it, even in text) but she agrees. I almost text Patrick a thanks or how about another round, tonight? But I resist the temptation.
Yes, I want to mount him again. I want to try all sorts of things with him. But one day at a time.
It's too easy to get mixed up, to make sex into something else. And he's the kind of guy who likes to keep things easy.
He's not going to want to dive into my fucked-up head. It's not exactly great pillow talk. Hey, did you realize I got this tattoo to celebrate the one-year anniversary of my suicide attempt? To celebrate being here, and being alive yes, but to celebrate the attempt too. Yeah, that's fucked up, isn't it?
I mean, it was a promise to myself—
And I'm going to do a wrist tattoo next, to promise my forearms I'll never try that method (not that I could handle it. There's a reason I'm not studying medicine). But, hey, sometimes it's whatever's handy.
Yeah.
That's really hot.
I put my cell away as I step inside.
Jade is in the kitchen, fixing a grilled cheese sandwich (the extent of her cooking skills) and dancing to cheesy pop music. She loves cheesy pop music, not that she'd ever admit it.
She turns to me with a blush, caught. "Hey." She grabs her cell and turns the music off.
"You can keep it." The over-the-top cheer is grating, but I need it right now. I need to push my other thoughts away. At least, while we're both here, in the main room. Jade and I are roommates, not confidants. I don't have confidants, sure, but I'm happy to keep spilling my guts to strangers.
"I wasn't feeling it," she says.
"Uh-huh."
"You want a sandwich?"
"You don't have to bribe me. I won't tell anyone you love ABBA."
"I listen ironically," she says.
"If you say so."
"Only one? You eat a lot after you swim." She notes my wet hair and my post-swim sweats. "Where do you put it?"