Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 76693 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76693 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
My grades are fine. Not perfect but not below average like Dax’s. School is just something for me to do and not something I love. Because of my love for architectural salvage and exposure to my dads’ restoration and redecorating firm, I could easily work for them full time one day and be happy.
“Oh,” Dad says, absently picking at his ribs. “I forgot to tell you. Dr. Wynn is retiring. She emailed me a few names of therapists, but I actually met a pretty nice guy who recently opened a new clinic. He’s not a dinosaur like Dr. Wynn, either. I’d say he’s in his late twenties and someone you could connect with easier. Felt like divine timing.”
A new therapist?
Dr. Wynn is a dinosaur, but she’s the dinosaur I know.
“Do I have to?” I ask, voice small, reminding me of when I was little and learning my place in my new family.
“It would make us happy if you’d try,” Pops adds, giving me a sympathetic smile. “If you don’t like him, we’ll try someone else.”
“Maybe I don’t need therapy anymore,” I suggest, voice rough and resigned.
Dad shakes his head. “Sorry, kiddo, that part’s not up for debate.”
Kiddo.
“And if I say no?” I challenge, a flare of anger sparking inside. “Are you going to kick me out?”
Pops grunts and Dad rolls his eyes.
“You’ll go because it’s what’s best for you,” Dad says in his bossy tone that leaves no room for argument. Then he flashes his winning smile that charms everyone in his vicinity. “Who wants baklava for dessert? I picked some up at the coffee shop earlier.”
As my parents happily move on to other subjects, my mind is still turning over this new revelation over and over again.
New therapist.
I’m going whether I want to or not.
I hope my new therapist enjoys hearing about my historical replicas and my love for architectural salvage because one thing’s for sure, if I didn’t open up to Dr. Wynn, I’m not opening up to some random stranger.
Gemma
I check my teeth in the rearview mirror for a third unnecessary time as I listen to Willa tell me all about Bane’s sleep schedule. While I love my sister-in-law, sometimes the baby tales are too much. We’re in such different places in our lives right now.
I’m about to start my second semester in college and she’s about to change yet another diaper. I certainly don’t envy her at times like these.
“I’m sorry,” Willa says with a tired sigh. “I know you don’t care about all this stuff.”
Jolting at her words, I shake my head, though she can’t see it. “What? I do care. I love my Bane-bae. I’m just nervous about one of my classes. I randomly chose it because all the ones I wanted were full, thinking it was a blow-off class, but I heard since then it’s not exactly an easy one.”
“You’ll do fine. You kill it with everything you do. What’s the class?”
“Historical Preservation and Urban Design. Womp, womp.”
She chuckles. “That does seem like the least Gemma Park class to ever exist, but I’m sure it won’t be so bad.”
“Says the nerd who married her teacher.”
We continue chatting until Bane starts wailing. Once we’re off the phone, I check my appearance one last time before grabbing my backpack and the giant Michael Kors handbag my parents got me for Christmas. The familiar nerves are in place as I attempt to gracefully climb out of my Tahoe.
Breathe, girl.
You’ve totally got this.
I affix my signature smile and start through the parking lot toward the building where my class is located. An old hunk of junk nearly plows over me, forcing me to jump back with a squeal. Several other students in the parking lot briefly look my way. The careless driver whips into an open spot nearby and parks partly on one of the lines.
The idiot drives like Dempsey does.
With a huff, I make sure no other runaway clunkers are about to take me out before making my way safely to the walking path. I can’t help but glance over my shoulder at the perpetrator. Some tall guy in a military jacket and messy dark hair flings himself out of the vehicle. His bag is half open and several papers fly out of it. Of course he doesn’t seem to even notice, kind of how he didn’t even see me crossing the lot.
What a dick.
Turning my attention back to the building, I lift my chin and walk with all the confidence I can muster. A couple of girls whisper and point at me before they both giggle. I give them a small wave that they don’t return.
Being a Park and now a pretty successful influencer, I’ve earned my fair share of notoriety. Sometimes it makes me friends and other times it makes me the butt of a joke. Most often, when people take the time to get to know me, they end up liking me. It’s just getting there that’s the problem.