Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 108650 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 543(@200wpm)___ 435(@250wpm)___ 362(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108650 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 543(@200wpm)___ 435(@250wpm)___ 362(@300wpm)
“Ah, yes. The dreaded snobbery.” His eye roll was practically audible.
“Hey, you don’t get it.” And he wouldn’t, no matter how often I tried to explain it to him. “I can absolutely be a snob. I do it all the time. There’s nothing wrong with not wanting to be that way to a newfound family.”
“There isn’t,” he agreed. “But there also isn’t any point in making yourself flustered trying to achieve some goal you haven’t even properly defined.”
“What do you mean?”
“You don’t want to be a ‘snob’,” he began. “But what about this situation makes you snobbish? Because you have a large, expensive apartment? Because you dress a certain way, or you’ve done your hair? Do you think they expect to find you in sackcloth and ashes when they arrive?”
“No.” That was just silly.
“And when they arrive, are you going to treat them as though they’re muddy dogs you don’t want on the furniture? Will you ask them not to touch anything for fear they might contaminate it or steal it?”
“Obviously not, Neil.” I hated when he made broad points like this. Because he was usually right.
“Then, how are you being a snob?” he asked.
“I just don’t want them to think I’m trying to act rich or something.”
Neil laughed. “We are rich. They’re bound to notice. I’m sure she got an inkling when she researched you.”
“I know, but I don’t want them to think that I think I’m better than them because of it.” I rubbed my temples. “I know you don’t get this.”
“You’re right. I don’t. I probably never will. But that doesn’t make your worries less valid.” He paused. “Would it make you feel better if we all ate in the kitchen?”
“Where the caterers are working?” Yeah, that would definitely make us seem more down to earth. “No. Besides, I’m not trying to pretend I made all that food myself. That’s such an Aunt Patty thing to do.”
“Ah, yes. Great-Aunt Patty’s famous Sara Lee pies.” Neil shook his head; he’d heard my mother and grandmother complain more than once about Patty’s “fake” pies.
“That’s a really good example, though,” I said, sitting up with the epiphany. “This entire life is like the store-bought pie. I didn’t earn any of this. It just happened to come as part of a package deal with the guy I married. But here I am, passing it off like it’s authentic. Like I made it myself. But they know I didn’t. They’re coming here, seeing all of this, and knowing that I’m just…nobody.”
“You aren’t ‘nobody’,” Neil argued. “You’re someone I love very much. And I’m not the only one.”
“I know, it’s just…” I made a frustrated noise. “They already know that I’m not like this. They knew that I grew up…less.”
“I’m sure they have more now than they did as children, as well. They run a company, after all.” He sounded very sensible, but it wasn’t what I meant.
“Not monetarily. They had families. TV families, you know? With a mom and a dad and siblings. I didn’t have that.” I didn’t quite know how that equated with money, but I was sure my therapist could help me figure that out. After all of this, I would be in dire need of a mental tune-up.
“And you feel that because you didn’t have that, and because you didn’t have money, you don’t deserve anything good in your life?”
So, Neil was apparently standing in for my therapist.
I didn’t want to admit he was right. Damn it. “Maybe. I just can’t stand the thought that she might sit there and think, ‘yeah, you have all this fancy stuff, but you were still unlovable.’”
“I doubt she’ll be thinking that,” Neil said gently. “And if she does, then she has her own problems that need working on.”
I leaned forward, my elbows on my knees, and let my head hang. Neil rubbed my shoulders like he was coaching me through a boxing match.
“You’re about to do something very difficult, Sophie,” he said, close to my ear as his strong hands kneaded my muscles. “And I admire you for it. Greatly. You had a chance to simply ignore all of this, but you chose to confront it.
“It kind of came to my office and confronted me,” I reminded him.
“That’s true,” he conceded. “But if someone had come to my office and asked me for one of my internal organs, I would have had security escort them out of the building.”
I snorted. “See? I told you. Snob.”
The reassuring massage turned into an out-and-out tickle assault. He hauled me, struggling, into his lap, and forced his face between my ear and shoulder to nibble on the most ticklish spot on my neck.
“Don’t, don’t, you’ll give me stubble burn!” I gasped, pushing at his chest. Only the threat of embarrassing marks made him relent, and when he released me, I dashed to the bathroom to splash cold water on my neck. Sure enough, he’d left a red scrape. I hoped it would fade before Susan and Travis arrived.