Total pages in book: 144
Estimated words: 134830 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 674(@200wpm)___ 539(@250wpm)___ 449(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 134830 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 674(@200wpm)___ 539(@250wpm)___ 449(@300wpm)
“I skipped one Sunday, and I called to let Mama know,” I correct. I don’t need his guilt trip, or Mama’s. I could send myself on a worldwide tour with all the guilt I pile on myself. “I’ve been busy. You know we’re in the middle of construction season, so there are more orders than usual.”
The truth is, after eating breakfast with Kyle on Saturday, I couldn’t go grocery shopping without my stomach threatening to revolt, and those pancakes were too good to risk ruining like that. I’d had to push shopping off to Sunday so that I was ready for the week, which meant no visit to my parents.
“Nothing is more important than family,” he reminds me, as if I’m too stupid to prioritize my own life and need him to guide me through it. “We’re certainly more important than those sweaty, smelly—"
“Watch it,” I warn, glaring over my shoulder to stop him before he can say something truly offensive. “Those people put a roof over our heads for our entire childhood,” I point out. “They put shoes on our feet and clothes on our backs. Maybe not department store loafers like you’re wearing now, but what Mama and Papa provided for us worked. And they were able to give us that because of customers like the ones I serve now.”
He sighs in frustration. This is our never-ending back and forth. We came from the same upbringing, with the same foundation of hard work, integrity, and stubbornness. He used it as a stepping stone, climbing a social and professional ladder while looking back on where he came from with derision and distaste. I’m still living the same life we grew up in—pinching pennies, fighting for a moment’s peace, and not caring about what some snooty person thinks of me. As evidenced by my continual battle with my neighbor.
The difference between me and my brother, though, is that he thinks he’s made it, becoming something greater than me, Mama, or Papa, while I think he’s an insufferable jerk whose ego has outgrown his humble beginnings. I wouldn’t trade places with him if I could. Of course, he wouldn’t trade places with me, either.
I bite back another sharp comment, knowing it’ll do no good, and go back to cleaning while Xavier watches me. My new plan? Let him say what he came to say and get out of here so I can finish work. My bed is calling my name.
“You still do it that way,” Xavier says as I put a crusted-up pot of sauce on my stove, this time filled with water and a citric acid tablet. “The old school methods.”
“It works, it’s cheap, and it’s less chemical-y than some of the alternatives,” I tell him. “Unless you’re offering to buy me a pressure washer for my birthday?” I lift my brows, questioning him.
My birthday isn’t for months, but it’s good to plant the seed of an idea with him well ahead of time. That way, by the time my birthday actually rolls around, he’ll think it was his idea all along.
“What?” Xavier balks in horror. “No.”
I shrug, not surprised. “Then yeah, every day will end with citric acid and a hot stove.”
Xavier looks hurt. Last year, he got me a thin, delicate gold bracelet and was upset that I didn’t appreciate it the way he hoped. But seriously? Where am I going to wear something like that? It’s been in the top drawer of my dresser ever since, tucked into the box from the jewelry store where he bought it.
“You’re better than dreaming of a pressure washer to scrub pots,” Xavier says. “Come on, Dani, it’s time to stop this madness. It’s time to settle down. Hell, even with one of those guys if you want.” He gestures out front as if the lineup of trucks that’s usually in front of my house is there right now, only instead of guys waiting for lunch, they’re all waiting to be my husband. “I know what a master plumber or carpenter makes. Pick someone and make a life together. Be happy.”
“I am happy.”
He cocks his head, surveying my life in one fell swoop. Dirty kitchen, messy hair, sweaty clothes, a long night still ahead of me.
Not able to argue with what he sees, I try a different angle. “What you really mean is pick someone and make Mama and Papa happy.”
“They worry about you. We all do.” He means him and Mara, too. Everyone thinks it’s time for me to settle down, like at the ripe, old age of twenty-five, I’m past my expiration date and gonna start curdling like spoiled milk.
I grit my teeth, warming up to unleash a proper, profanity-laced rebuttal that’ll have Xavier thinking I’m not fit for polite company, much less marriage, but I’m thwarted by movement by the back door.