Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 103109 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 516(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103109 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 516(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
“I need a catering manager at the banquet center,” Molly says. “I mean, obviously you’re ridiculously overqualified, but if you just wanted to step away for a while, the job is yours.”
“I love that idea,” Mom says, clasping her hands together. And it’s official. Now Molly is definitely her favorite. She spins to me. “You could work for Molly until you find something closer, Shayleigh.”
The idea pulls me in two directions. On one hand, I don’t want to leave home. On the other hand, finishing my PhD and abandoning it feels like a degree of failure. “Maybe I’ll put my application in,” I tell Molly. “I’m just not sure yet.”
“No pressure.” She grins. “Just options.”
I nod. “Options are good.” My phone buzzes, and I stoop to grab it from my purse in the corner.
Easton: I’m coming back from Chicago early. We need to talk. And before you say no, it’s not about you and me. It’s about something else.
“Is everything okay?” Mom asks. She’s got this sixth sense when it comes to her kids. She always knows when there’s something wrong. I swear, even though I’ve never breathed a word about my relationship with Easton to anyone in my family, I wouldn’t be totally shocked if my mom suspected something had happened between us. That’s just the way she is.
“Everything’s fine.” I force a smile and shove my phone back into my purse without replying. I really want to stop talking about myself. “Is everyone happy with their dresses?”
Molly scans the group, and everyone nods happily. “I think so.”
“Then let me take my girls to lunch,” Mom says. She looks at me. “I know you’re very busy with everything right now, Shay, but come to lunch with us. You need to eat.”
“I will. Lunch sounds good.” That’s a lie. Nothing sounds good. This morning, I tried to make myself eat oatmeal and ended up dry-heaving over the toilet for fifteen minutes. I’m glad I didn’t know in high school what stress does to my appetite, because I probably would’ve sought it out just to lose weight.
I head back to the changing room, hoping that a locked door between my mom and me will dim her spider-sense.
“Shay,” she calls right as I start to unzip. Damn it. She’s going to realize I’ve been feeling sick, and when she does, she’ll hound me about going to the doctor. I would, seriously, but there’s no point. After Dad’s funeral, I was sick for weeks. This isn’t my first rodeo.
“Yeah, Mom.” I hang the dress back up and try to infuse a smile into my voice.
“I think you separating from your boyfriend might be quite timely.”
Yeah, because there’s never a bad time to realize you’re sleeping with a married asshole. God, if Mom ever finds out, I’ll have to move. I can barely look her in the eye as it is. “Why’s that?”
“Because Easton was asking Carter about you. Carter said he made it quite clear he was interested and planning to pursue something. Remember how much you used to like him? You followed him around like a puppy dog when you were little. It was the cutest thing.”
I yank on my sweater dress with more force than necessary. “Not happening, Mom.”
“Why not? He’s an amazing man. You know this.”
“Just not interested.”
“Don’t tell me you’re not attracted to him anymore.”
Why is this my life? I step out of the changing room. Instead of giving me her Cheshire Cat grin, Mom is studying me with her worried mother eyes. I take her hand and squeeze it. “Let me figure out where I’m going to be living next year before I start dating anyone, okay?”
She smiles, but there’s something about the narrowing of her eyes that makes me think she can see through me. “You know, Steve’s mom told me what Easton did when Steve broke up with you in Paris.” She cocks her head to the side. “It was such a kind thing to do, and yet . . . you never mentioned it to me?”
There’s a question in her words that I can’t answer. I love my mom, and her approval means the world to me. George would say that’s immature, but that’s just the way I’m built. “It was a long time ago,” I say, and I try to ignore the hurt that flashes in her eyes when she realizes I have no intention of saying anything more.
Easton
I wasn’t planning to come back to Jackson Harbor until Sunday, but after seeing Professor Douche with his . . . whatever she was to him this morning, I couldn’t wait to talk to Shay. Not that she replied to my text messages.
I thought about going to her apartment, but if there’s anything I’ve learned during the last couple of weeks, it’s that Shay doesn’t spend much time there. It seems like she’s always at work, the bar, or on her laptop in the apartment upstairs.