Total pages in book: 112
Estimated words: 106839 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106839 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
So I know that leaving was the right decision for me. Collin and I would never have been friends if we weren’t both in the same recruiting office that day back in senior year.
Anyway. Eden, Angel, and Vangie share a house across the street from the parents now. Halo still technically lives at home, but that’s really only technically.
I don’t bother knocking when I get to the door, just try the doorknob, find it unlocked, and walk in on an in-progress conversation about their business. They run all the social media marketing for the Revival. But they do more than that, too. They run marketing for all kinds of companies now.
The front living space has a corporate break room look about it, since the house doesn’t have an extra room for an office. Desks everywhere, stacks of paper, whiteboards, and all kinds of other shit that lets people know that this side hustle of theirs has gone serious.
As soon as they notice I’m here, they all get up from their desks and come running at me like a gang of girl-bosses, which is only slightly terrifying, since they are my relations and all. But had I been a stranger, I’d be considering a duck-and-cover move right about now.
“Amon!” Halo exclaims, practically jumping into my arms. “You’re back!”
I don’t pick her up—though I do allow myself a moment of sadness here that I was gone all those years that I could’ve picked her up—and just hug her back.
Vangie and Eden join in, making it a group hug.
“You guys do realize I’ve been back for months now, right?” Angel’s the one I’m looking at when I say this because she’s not a hugger.
She’s got her arms crossed and she’s scowling at me as she answers back. “They think it’s the last time they’ll ever see you, Amon. That’s why they’re hugging you like that.”
I walk forward towards her, little sisters hanging off me like fruit, and Angel backs up.
“Don’t, Amon. I’m serious.”
“Don’t what? Don’t hug you, Angel?”
We lock eyes for a moment, that spaghetti western showdown music playing in both our heads. She breaks first, trying to run. But I tackle her, making her squeal and sending her flyin’ sideways onto the couch like we’re little kids again.
She fights back as I use my considerable weight advantage to keep her down, and then all the girls join in—taking her side, of course—and pull me off.
Angel’s got every right to be mad at me for leaving so long. Because I missed it. I missed all those years of them growing up. And I’m sorry about that, but it’s done now and there’s no way to change it. Still, my tactical move worked because while Angel hasn’t given up cursing me, she’s doing it with a smile now.
I flop down in a chair and sigh, looking around their house, wondering how so much could’ve changed in just twelve years. “We goin’ bowlin’ or what?”
There’s a chorus of yeses, then a bunch of talk about work and whatever. Halo disappears, goin’ across the street to the parents’ house to grab whatever she needs, and the rest of them migrate upstairs to get ready.
Which leaves me time to spy something interesting. I lean over and grab a piece of paper off a side table. Well, look at that. The Bishop Busybody.
It’s just copy paper, of course. But it’s yellowed, like it’s old. And it’s nicely designed, like it’s vintage. The publication title, as well as the contributors, is all printed in an old-timey font reminiscent of Colonial times, but with better readability.
I stare at Rosie Harlow’s name for a moment, thinking about her all dressed up in Bishop yesterday. She looked… pretty. Frilly and feminine, for sure. Which I am not used to because since I’ve been back, I’ve mostly seen her in those bell bottoms and halter tops, looking all retro sexy. Which is a weird thing to be thinking about the mother of a twelve-year-old boy, but there is it.
But I like the dress and it looks natural on her. Like she fits in down there in Bishop.
My eyes scan down to the first article—which, of course, isn’t an article, it’s a personal ad—and I start to read it.
To the esteemed ladies of refinement and courage, I am a robust and hearty young man of twenty-four, carving out a life in the untamed wilderness of West Virginia. My days are filled with the pioneering tasks of building, hunting, and tending to the land I am striving to tame.
I seek a courageous and resilient woman, one who finds excitement in the prospect of a life amidst the wild beauty of West Virginia. A partner who is undaunted by the challenges of pioneer life and who can stand beside me as we forge a future in these uncharted lands. She should be spirited, resourceful, and ready to embrace the thrills and trials of a life less ordinary.