Total pages in book: 31
Estimated words: 29586 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 148(@200wpm)___ 118(@250wpm)___ 99(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 29586 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 148(@200wpm)___ 118(@250wpm)___ 99(@300wpm)
From middle school onwards, we did everything together and that hasn’t changed much over the years, even though our lives have diverged. After senior year, I went off to Kansas State and got a degree in business. Meanwhile, Leslie stayed behind and got a job as a barista. She doesn’t need the work, since her parents let her stay at their house and she doesn’t have any expenses, but she got bored sitting around doing nothing. Being a barista lets her get out of the house every once in a while. The schedule and her co-workers keep her sane.
My phone pings with a text. I glance at it and groan.
“What?” Leslie asks.
“It’s my parents again. They sent me another real estate listing.”
“Wow, they’re persistent,” she remarks.
“I know,” I grumble, staring at my phone. It’s not that my parents want me to move out or are trying to get me to buy a place. No, it’s much worse. They run a real estate company together and they want me to become the princess of their kingdom.
I guess it sort of makes sense because ever since graduating, I’ve struggled to find full time work. Leslie got me a job at the Coffee Perk, so I’m earning a paycheck, but it’s not what my parents expected when I got my business degree. Instead, Maryanne and Ben want me to join their brokerage to sell real estate. Ugh. In a perfect world, I’d suck it up and give it a shot. But why bother? Not only am I bad at sales, but I don’t have any passion for the job, so I’ll never get better.
“I hate real estate with a passion,” I moan. “I tried taking sales classes in college and nearly failed. I’m not a natural born salesperson and it kills my parents that I didn’t inherit that trait.”
Leslie pulls a sundress from her closet, eyeing it strategically.
“Lighten up, Pepper. Look at me! I’m doing just fine.”
I roll my eyes. “Yeah, but you don’t have any responsibilities.”
Leslie nods with satisfaction.
“Exactly. I basically make my own schedule at the Coffee Perk. My parents don’t bother me, and I don’t bother them. In fact, you know what? You should move into the pool house too. You sleep in the spare room often enough.”
I shake my head.
“As much as I love you, we’d kill each other if we lived together.”
She nods. “Good point. But still, just tell your parents you don’t want a job.”
I sigh because it’s easy for Leslie to say. Her parents were actually against her getting the job at Coffee Perk. After all, they have enough money to support their daughter, and would prefer Leslie to spend her time doing something more high-brow. What that is, I have no idea.
“I wish I had a life like yours,” I sigh.
My friend nods happily.
“Yeah, it’s pretty great.”
I laugh. Despite her lavish upbringing, Leslie isn’t stuck up. When she’s not at the Coffee Perk, she does a lot of volunteer work and plans charity events to benefit a wide assortment of folks. I know charities and galas are things a lot of rich women do to make it seem like they care, but with Leslie, she genuinely does. She picks non-profits that are close to her heart, and I love that about her.
Meanwhile, I don’t mean to complain. Maybe my family’s not filthy rich, but Maryanne and Ben have given me a great life. We live in a modest three-bedroom home, and they haven’t asked me to move out. Maybe we don’t have a pool house I can escape to, but my parents are somewhat respectful and don’t treat me like a baby. I’d like to leave eventually of course, but I need to get a steady job first. My salary at the Coffee Perk just isn’t enough.
My phone pings again and I groan when I see that it’s another real estate listing. This time, my mom added a caption.
“This could be you!” she’s typed.
I turn my phone off. I don’t want to deal with their pestering right now. I have no enthusiasm for real estate, and I never will.
“Are you almost ready to go?” I ask my friend, forcing myself to focus on happier things. The first day of the fair is going to be amazing, and I generally like to get there early enough to snag the best treats. They tend to sell out of my strawberry pie in a flash, and I don’t want to leave empty-handed.
My best friend nods but studies my outfit.
“You’re not going in that, are you?”
I look down at my clothes. I don’t see anything wrong with the maroon tank top and jean shorts I have on. It’s an outfit I’d wear any other day. Plus, the fair isn’t something special. A lot of folks show up wearing dirty work clothes like worn overalls and raggedy plaid shirts. I’m a step up from them, for sure.