Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 125117 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 500(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125117 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 500(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
“Hi,” he said.
Truman’s hi stuck in his throat so only a gurgle came out. It was no more mortifying than anything else that had happened in the last twenty-four hours, so Truman just sat there, resigned to awfulness.
“I’m not gonna say this is an intervention,” Greta said, “but I fear some deep miscommunication is going on, and I want to help.”
She sat on the chair facing the couch and gestured Ash onto the couch beside Truman. Truman scrambled to the other side to make room. He could feel the air between them charge.
“It’s so ridiculous,” Greta said. “I feel like I’m just now learning how fucked up my approach to my whole damn life has been, and now I’m, like, a little bit high on the potential for freedom and self-determination, so forgive me if I sound like a total joke.” She turned to Truman. “But I can’t help but feel like you and I are on these parallel journeys, where we have inverse issues. I’ve spent all this time trying to live up to other people’s expectations and resenting them because I wanted to do my own thing. And you seem like you’ve spent your time being perfectly happy living by other people’s desires because you feel like you can’t ever have what you want.”
Truman cringed at the accuracy of the description.
“Too harsh?” she said.
“Nah. Just true,” Truman said.
He refused to look at Ash even though he was desperate to see his face.
“And, Ash, we’ve known each other basically forever, so I feel at least partly justified in saying that your thing is that you think no one will ever want to share a life with you because you think your life sucks. But it seems like maybe Truman doesn’t think your life sucks. Soooo… Discuss?”
“I don’t think your life sucks! I love it here. It’s so peaceful and genuine, and I love Thorn and—and—” Truman broke off before he blurted out And I love you! because, ya know, mortification.
When Truman managed to get up the courage to look at Ash, he was shaking his head.
“You don’t get it,” Ash said, voice thick. “My mom. It’s like, every night, I’m there to make dinner, eat with her, get her settled, and by the time I get home, after that and working at the shop all day, I’m exhausted. And that’s just how it is for…forever. I don’t know. And I knew that when I came back here.”
He sounded utterly resigned, the same way he had all those times they’d talked about the way the shop wasn’t profitable. But Truman was a problem solver by trade and by inclination, and he refused to believe that Ash was consigned to things the way they were forever if he didn’t want to be. Certainly there were problems that had no good solutions, but Truman didn’t think this was one of them.
He didn’t think it was really the time. After all, they were discussing why Ash didn’t think he should move here. But also…if that was Ash’s only reason, surely it was relevant? And what was the worst that could happen? Ash would want him to move here even less?
“What’s the biggest reason you have that routine with your mom?” Truman asked. It was always the first question he asked to make sure he understood a situation.
“She gets confused in the evenings a lot. And having me there helps because I’m familiar. It’s a routine. Plus she’s not great about remembering to eat, so, dinner.”
“Okay, so it helps her to have consistency and someone to share the evenings with. Someone familiar.”
Ash nodded. He was twisting the bottom of his baby-blue sweater in his fingers, pulling the stitches to their breaking point.
“Could it be someone who wasn’t you?”
“I can’t afford to pay anyone. I looked into it before I moved back, but it’s out of my price range.”
“But hypothetically, it could be.”
Ash frowned. “It could be if it was someone she knew. Someone consistent. Hypothetically”
“Okay, I have an idea. You know those people your mom invited to coffee?”
Ash nodded.
“She’s friendly. She likes people. People like her.”
Ash nodded again.
“What if she got housemates? Like, I know most of the older people are already set up. But Carla Muskee was talking about someone’s son who’s a painter, and I know those two kids who had coffee with your mom are young and probably have limited income. What if you found, like, two younger people who need super cheap accommodations, would be jazzed about having dinner together every night to share the cost and the company, and could be consistent people in your mom’s life that would make her feel grounded and secure.”
The silence was palpable. Ash looked utterly blank, and for a moment, Truman regretted saying anything. Then, he saw tears at the corners of Ash’s eyes, and Ash tried to blink them away. Clearly overcome, Ash’s tears came faster and faster.