Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 103102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 516(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 516(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
“That doesn’t sound like you.”
“It’s not.” She takes a long sip of her coffee. “I’m trying to learn from her.”
I don’t know what to say. I care about Deanna deeply, but I don’t know how to prove it. How does anyone prove their feelings? Why would they?
And if this is the sort of talk I used to have with my sister’s boyfriends (not that any of the guys ever listened), I don’t have the answers she wants.
I don’t know what our future holds.
If she belongs here, and I belong somewhere else—
There’s really no way to fix that. I may not be practical, but I see that.
“It’s hard, though,” Lexi says. “I’m not like her. You aren’t, either, I think. We both know something she doesn’t: certain things don’t follow logic. Sex, for example. Or love.”
This isn’t the Lexi I know, but then I never really knew her. I’m only getting to know the person under the sunglasses and the pink. “You’re not as agreeable as you seem.”
“I know.” She smiles, and for a moment, I see that usual Lexi charm. Bright and brilliant. Only it’s too bright, too brilliant. She’s playing it up. Forcing a fake expression.
The pretense fades as she studies me. Her lips straighten, her eyes focus, her jaw softens.
I see her. The actual Lexi. The girl who loves her sister more than anything.
“I’ve always admired her drive,” Lexi says.
“Me, too.”
“How do you think it feels, to want something as badly as Dee wants to take over the world?” she asks.
“I don’t know.” I want my time with Grandma, here. I want her to accept my help. I want Mom to get sober. But that’s different. None of that is within my control.
“Me neither. I never want anything the way she wants success for the company. Especially not with school and work. Those things never felt important to me. Not the way they’re important to her.”
I know what she means.
“But then I do want it, the company, because I want her to do well. I want to finally pay her back, for all the times she came to my rescue.”
“You do all that work for her?” I ask.
The server interrupts with our drinks.
For a moment, silence falls. He puts a carafe of coffee and a fresh cup and saucer in front of her. A steel pot of water, a basket of English Breakfast bags, a cream pitcher, a tiny jar of honey, a lemon, and the same cup and saucer in front of me.
The same setup in every nice enough hotel. When Grandma was healthier, we used to travel, to see the country, the continent, the world.
Was our trip to Seattle our last trip?
Will we ever go anywhere again?
I push the thought away as I fix my tea.
Lexi stirs her coffee carefully. “I work hard but not half as hard as Dee. And I’m not even a quarter as brilliant as she is. I’m a good marketer. I enjoy the work. There’s something fun, about figuring out how to present something to the world.”
That sounds exactly like the Lexi I imagined. And the one I’m getting to know, too.
“And with MeetCute, I get to embrace pink and sex and love. Mostly love, sure, but that’s fun for me, too. Different.”
“I’ve seen the app.”
“It’s fun, and I have fun with it, but I don’t love work the way Dee does. I don’t want to go into the office on Saturday or stay up late to perfect a pitch or put success ahead of my other priorities.”
“Most people don’t.”
“Maybe.” She takes a long sip of her coffee.
I stir cream into my tea. The English Breakfast is a little weak—the water isn’t hot enough—but it still soothes my stomach.
Lexi is getting at something. I don’t know what it is, but I can tell it’s important, so I pause, give her room to expand.
After another sip, she continues. “Dad always asked why I wasn’t more like Deanna. Serious, studious, committed. All the things a good Huntington should be. All my teachers were the same. Even the ones who didn’t know Dee, who had never taught her, who worked at a different school. They found a way to compare us.”
“Do you resent her?”
“Not anymore,” she says.
She’s good at hiding things.
The second I meet her gaze, she shifts, back to that typical Lexi smile. Only this time, she realizes it right away. “Have you told her?”
“Told her what?” I ask.
“About your grandma.”
“What?”
“Her condition.”
Time stops. The world around me freezes. The blue sky, the palm trees, the bright concrete. Even the people around us, the older couple mid-conversation, the executives in summer wool sipping iced tea, the family in the pool.
Everyone stops.
Lexi studies my expression carefully. She lowers her voice to something sympathetic. “She didn’t tell me.”
She wouldn’t.
“I was at the hospital, for my yearly. And I saw her. She’s easy to recognize with that silk trench coat. Who wears a trench coat in southern California?”