Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 92743 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92743 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
She glances at the older couple in front of us, smiling as she watches them laugh at a shared joke. She clearly isn’t haunted by the specter of her future self.
But why should she be? She has her entire life ahead of her, decades before she’s even middle-aged, let alone approaching her dotage.
I’m the problem here. I’m the one with the age and experience to know how quickly the years fly by, moving faster and faster, until you blink and suddenly a decade’s passed and you’re no longer the person you were before.
Until now, I’ve leveled up with the passing years, but constant, unrelenting growth isn’t sustainable. Or natural. It’s something I tell my clients—that no matter what capitalism and the modern market might demand, all companies experience times when profits are down. It’s important to acknowledge that, and to prepare for seasons of scarcity as well as plenty.
“Are you all right?” Sully asks softly, her fingers plucking at the sleeve of my shirt.
I blink, dragging myself from my progressively depressing thoughts. “Yes, why?”
“You didn’t say anything about my story.”
I pull in a breath, exhaling with a shake of my head. “Sorry. I guess I didn’t know what to say. Are we Team Antichrist or Team All Saints’ Day?”
She laughs. “I mean, not to be a jerk, but I’d love a Halloween cousin. Either way, I’m buying him a devil costume for baby’s first Halloween next year. Just to mess with Aunt Sue.”
I force a smile. “As you should.”
She nods toward the people ahead of as we shift forward again. “Do we still want to be in this line? We don’t have to leave if you don’t want to. Though we have already danced and eaten and had one of our palms read…”
I cock my head. “But it’s only ten o’clock.”
She shrugs. “That’s okay. I’m used to going to bed early, hazard of the lobstering lifestyle.”
The mention of her dead-end job sends a flash of heat through my chest. It was bad enough, watching her throw her life away on a grueling career with no chance of advancement or a pay raise, when I didn’t know she had real talent.
But now that’s different, too.
“We should talk about your job,” I say, stepping forward again. We’re nearly at the claim window now, and I’m grateful. This room, with its crush of people and haunting music, is starting to make me feel claustrophobic.
Or maybe that’s just my own skin…
She frowns. “What about my job?”
“You’re wasting your potential.”
The furrow between her brows deepens. “What? Where is this coming from?”
“It’s coming from concern for your welfare and your future, not to mention your body. Most twenty-four-year-olds don’t have a shoulder injury that aches when it rains.”
Her chin hitches up, and her eyes take on that stubborn gleam I haven’t seen since Tuesday, when she refused to try the duck-liver pâté I bought at the gourmet shop in town. But we’re aren’t half-naked, laughing over a plate of crackers right now.
“Well, I do,” she says. “And that’s from playing rugby in high school, not working on the boat.”
“But if you didn’t work on the boat, it might have had time to heal,” I counter. “And don’t you want a job where you don’t have to hose off the stink of salted herring at the end of every day? Don’t you want to make something of yourself? To honor the talent that you’ve been given?”
She crosses her arms over her chest. “What’s gotten into you all of a sudden?”
I clench my jaw, feigning ignorance. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Oh, yes you do,” she shoots back. “Don’t pull that Mr. Ice in My Veins thing with me. I don’t buy it anymore. Just put your normal face back on and talk to me.”
I frown, doubling down on my impenetrable stare. “Excuse me?”
She reaches up, poking a finger into my cheek. “Your face. Put the real one back on.”
I clench my jaw harder, fighting to maintain control as she pokes me again, this time on the other cheek.
“That’s right,” she says, poking my forehead, between my eyes, and finally, the tip of my nose. I huff out a soft laugh and her lips curve into a victorious smile. “There it is. I knew the real Mr. Fancy was in there somewhere.” Her grin fades, concern filling her eyes as she says, “Should we head up to the room and talk about what’s really bothering you?”
I glance down at the floor, ashamed of myself. I’m supposed to be the older, wiser person in this situation. Instead, I’m lashing out like a fucking teenager.
“I’m sorry,” I say.
She takes my hand. “Don’t be. You don’t have to be perfect all the time. God knows, I’m not.” We step forward, until only the happy older couple stands between us and the coat check window. “And you aren’t the first person to say something like that to me. Elaina and Maya have both expressed similar things, but…that was a long time ago. At this point, most of the people in my life have learned to respect my choices.”