Total pages in book: 167
Estimated words: 164557 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 823(@200wpm)___ 658(@250wpm)___ 549(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 164557 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 823(@200wpm)___ 658(@250wpm)___ 549(@300wpm)
I’m surprised he even allows pretzels. I was reading the nutritional breakdown earlier, and the sodium content in one bag is fucking insane. These pretzels are delicious, though, so I’m not ratting myself out to Will by telling him about this new sodium development. If he’s too lazy to read the back of the bag, that’s on him.
Around noon, I finally drag myself off the couch and try to muster up the motivation to work out. It’s a cardio day. I should probably go for a run, but the weather has turned on us. Winter has asserted dominance over autumn. So now it’s fucking cold out.
It’s times like these I wish I still lived in Australia. In fact, it’s kind of shitty of my parents to grant me ten years of glorious sunshine and no blizzards, only to move us to Indianapolis, where blizzards rule the land. Granted, I’m the one who then chose to attend college in New England, so every nor’easter I’ve endured since is on my conscience, not theirs.
Speaking of my parents, Dad calls as I’m sliding into a pair of track pants. Fuck it, I’m facing the frigid wind.
“Hey, kid,” he says. “Just wanted to check in. See how you’re doing.”
“All good. I’m about to brave the elements and go for a run.”
“No practice today?”
“Had it this morning.”
“Cool cool.”
“What’s wrong?” I demand.
“What? Why do you think something’s wrong?”
I snort. “Because you said ‘cool cool.’ You only say stupid things like that when you’re upset about something and don’t know how to bring it up.”
“I got a job offer,” he blurts out.
“For me?” I wrinkle my forehead.
“No, for me.”
“Oh. I didn’t know you were thinking of leaving Winchester Motors.”
Dad has worked for the Australian-founded car design firm since he was in his early twenties, climbing up the corporate ladder and reaching a rung high enough that when the company decided to open an American office, he was asked to oversee the entire division.
“I wasn’t. A headhunter contacted me.”
“Isn’t that, like, against the law? Can they really just poach you from other companies? It’s not some sort of antitrust violation?”
“Do you know what antitrust is, Beck?”
I sigh. “No.”
His laughter echoes in my ear. “Well, it has nothing to do with headhunters. But either way, this is a great gig. Twice my current salary. Not just corporate duties but the chance to work closely with the head of design. I didn’t realize until I heard the details how much I’ve missed being involved in that aspect of the job. All I do at Winchester these days is paperwork.”
“Whoa, this sounds awesome. What are you worried about? Leaving Winchester high and dry?”
“No, that’s not it.”
“Then what’s the issue?”
“It’s in Sydney.”
My breath hitches. “Fuck, really?”
I can’t stop the burst of excitement. I’d love it if my folks moved back to Sydney. I visit every summer and stay with my cousins, but if Mum and Dad lived there full-time, I’d be able to go home as often as I wanted without feeling like I’m imposing on Aunty Suzanne.
“This is excellent news,” I tell him.
“You think so?” He sounds hopeful.
“Hell yes. You’ve talked about wanting to move back home for years.”
“I have, haven’t I? See? I told her that.”
I fight a smile. “Her, as in Mum?”
“Your mother is very unhappy about this.”
“Why?”
“She doesn’t want me to take the job. It would be uprooting our entire life for a second time. She doesn’t want to go through that again.”
“But she’d be going home.”
“She said she doesn’t consider it home anymore.”
I suppose that doesn’t surprise me. Mum has lived in Indy for almost twelve years now. She’s become ingrained in the community, built real friendships, a solid career. She fixed up our house from top to bottom.
But Indy isn’t home. And it’s damn ironic that the guy who only lived in Sydney for ten years considers it more of a home than the woman who spent thirty years there before relocating.
Dad’s like me, though. Every year at Christmas, he and I stare at the snow beyond the window and get the same look on our faces. The one that says we could be surfing right now. Sure, snowboarding’s sick, but the holidays always fall in the middle of hockey season. Coach would break my leg for me if I risked breaking that leg on the slopes during the season.
“So, what? You’re not going to take it?” I grab a T-shirt and slip it over my head, then bring the phone back to my ear. “Just like that? You’re saying no because Mum says no?”
“I don’t want to say no. I really want this. But marriage is a two-way street.”
“Marriage is also about compromise.”
“She already did that once,” he reminds me. “Your mum compromised by moving to America when she didn’t want to.”
“Yes, and now she loves it here. Right now, she’s saying she doesn’t want to return to Sydney, but eventually she’ll love it there again too.”