Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 65304 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 327(@200wpm)___ 261(@250wpm)___ 218(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65304 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 327(@200wpm)___ 261(@250wpm)___ 218(@300wpm)
That would make Gram sad, but she’d understand. She’s always said that I shouldn’t have kids unless I’m dying to be a mother.
She loved being a mom, but she watched her younger sister sink into a lifelong depression after her husband forced her to have four more kids than the one daughter she wanted. Great Aunt Tillie had dreams of going back to school to become a biologist, but with five kids, she never got the chance. By the time her youngest was out of the house, her dreams had died on the vine. She passed away two years ago, a bitter woman with a bellyful of regret.
Gram was so sad at her funeral. She made me promise I would never end up like Tillie, that I’d live my truth, no matter how hard the road might get sometimes. And that I’d choose a spouse who supported my dreams as much as his own. At the time, I’d sworn that I would, certain I was already well on my way to doing just that.
But now…
Now, I wonder if I’m as on track as I thought. If I were zooming down the truth and happiness highway toward the life of my dreams, would I be exhausted all the time? Would I dread my study group meetings and grit my teeth through half of my classes, taught by crusty old academics who secretly don’t think women have a “head for numbers”? And would I be going on date after miserable date with men who are all wrong for me in the name of keeping my career path clear?
Have I really been pursuing my dreams or just fighting like hell to avoid the things I’m afraid of?
I don’t know. But I do know that letting this thing with Derrick become anything more than pretend would be a disaster.
Derrick and I are all wrong for each other. Sure, sitting on his lap and making out with his sexy face are fun in the moment, but I’m not about the moment, I’m a big-picture girl. And the big picture is that thousands of smart daily decisions combine to create a life well lived. It’s okay to mess up every once in a while, but in order to stay on track, you have to be careful, thoughtful.
Throwing caution to the wind and jumping on the first dick that makes me feel fizzy inside just isn’t me. Not when that dick is fraught with complications that could damage my friendships, my focus, and my self-esteem.
Derrick might be on his best behavior at the moment, but I didn’t nickname him Satan for nothing. It would be just like him to wait until we’re naked and basking in the afterglow to say something devastating while my guard was down. If he criticized my performance or wondered why I didn’t know how to do the reverse cowgirl properly—I’ve watched porn but watching and doing are two very different things—my confidence might never recover.
Ugh. Just imagining it is enough to make my vagina board up the doors and windows and run down to the basement to hide until the storm has passed.
A storm…
That’s how I’ll think of this week. It’s a storm I have to weather, but the sun will come out again, as long as I don’t make any more dumb mistakes.
But I can do that. I’m a smart woman, and I have years of practice at holding Derrick at a distance. I just have to keep doing that on the inside while I’m pretending to be crazy about him on the outside.
That’s doable. More than doable.
None of the assholes in my study group realize I want to cover them in honey and tie them to a log infested with biting ants. They all think I’m a team player who can be counted on to explain the shit they didn’t understand in class and do twice as much work for our group projects. I’m a pro at feeling one way and acting another. I’ve got this and then some.
Confidence renewed, I step out of the bathroom to find Derrick leaning against the wall by the door, dressed in black slacks, a gray button-down shirt, and a red-and-silver-striped tie. He looks so good my stomach swoops and that fizzy feeling starts rising in my chest again, but I shut it down with a mental reminder that I don’t like this man and a professional smile.
“Ready to meet the folks?” I ask, forcing an upbeat tone as I grab my purse off the coffee table.
“As ready as I’ll ever be,” he says, offering me his arm. “Shall we?”
“We shall,” I say, refusing to think about how nice his muscled arm feels beneath my fingers as we wander down the hall and take the stairs to the first floor.
Miraculously, we pass through the lobby and punch the elevator button to head up to the main dining area without running into any of my family members, which is quite a feat considering there are thirty of us here. My two cousins with older, school-aged kids couldn’t make it, but the rest of the family from Connecticut, New Jersey, and Rhode Island are all present and accounted for.