Total pages in book: 133
Estimated words: 129986 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 650(@200wpm)___ 520(@250wpm)___ 433(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129986 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 650(@200wpm)___ 520(@250wpm)___ 433(@300wpm)
He slides me a sideways glance. “Depends on your skill set.”
I can’t ignore the suggestion in that statement, but I try. “Well, I’m a very good cook,” I tell him. “I’m just okay at cleaning. Can’t say it’s a passion of mine, but I can get the job done.”
“I’d have to sample the goods and see you in the uniform before I could make a firm decision.”
I nod. “And I’d have to scoop out all of my dreams and aspirations, so it sounds like we both need time.”
Dare cracks a smile. “Not into the domestic gig, huh?”
“Part-time, sure, but I need something of my own, too. Men leave, so I’m not about to tie my entire well-being to one. Maid, wife—if my status depends on a man’s whim, it’s not going to be the basket I drop all my eggs in.”
“Ouch. Someone had a bad break-up,” he jokes.
My lips curve up faintly, but I’m not amused. “Something like that.”
“Who was the guy?” he asks.
“No one you know.”
“I know everyone,” he states.
I miss a beat, take a breath, then decide, what the hell? “My father.”
“Oh. You got me there, I don’t know him.”
“Don’t feel bad. Turns out I didn’t, either,” I murmur.
He’s quiet for a moment, then asks, “What happened?”
I didn’t plan to get into all this with him. I don’t have time for my old friends, so I certainly don’t have time to make new ones. I also doubt he has any real interest in being my friend, but I remind myself I shouldn’t be so skeptical. Aside from that first night, he has been pretty good to me.
“My mom has cancer. She was diagnosed during my sophomore year. We’ve been fighting it ever since, did all the treatments, the diets, the prayers, the dumb shit you find on the internet when you’re desperate for some last-resort method peddled by some grief-predator who swears they have the answers all the doctors don’t. We tried everything. And, of course, it was hard. Constant soaring hopes and crushing disappointments, working our lives around Mom’s cancer treatments, going into debt paying for what insurance wouldn’t cover… It’s been awful, I won’t pretend otherwise. But that’s what he signed up for. He was clearly a bit fuzzy on the vows he made—‘forsaking all others’, ‘in sickness and in health’, he seemed to think those were just for dramatic effect. He started a part-time job—that’s what he told us, anyway—to make extra money. We were cash-strapped just living here so I could go to stupid fucking Baymont High, but then with all Mom’s cancer stuff, she ended up having to quit her job, so we went down to one income. Anyway, he said he was working a second job stocking Nestlé products in stores in the area, but what had actually happened was he had met somebody. When he pretended to be working, he was actually going out with her while I stayed home and took care of Mom. He made fools of both of us, and then he left us for her.”
“Fuck. That’s heavy. I’m sorry.”
I shrug, looking down at my lap. “It sucked. Mom said I was being too hard on him, that her illness had been a lot for him, and he was never a very strong man, so he couldn’t handle it.”
“And what do you say?”
“Me?” I look over at him. “I say fuck him. I’m 18-years-old. If I can stick it out, he could have, too. He’s selfish. He shouldn’t have married anyone in the first place if his ‘commitment’ was so conditional. I don’t know what kind of person leaves someone they supposedly love at the end of their life just because the experience isn’t pleasant, but it’s not the kind of person I have any use for in my life.” Anger heats my face and climbs up my ears as I think about the bullshit he said, telling me he hoped someday I wouldn’t be so angry at him. Wanting me to meet the bimbo he left Mom for.
Yeah, no fucking thanks.
“He told me how nice she is.” I look over at him. “Can you believe that shit? So nice she was fine with stealing the husband of a woman dying from cancer. Yeah, she sounds great.” I shake my head. “I don’t talk to him anymore. He still calls every now and then, but I stopped answering.”
The car is quiet for a moment. Self-consciousness creeps up on me.
“Sorry for ranting at you. Bet you’re regretting this chauffeur gig now, huh?” I remark lightly.
Dare looks over at me with a frown. “Why? Because you’re being real? It’s nice. I’m not used to it.”
“Anae doesn’t have deep, personal conversations with you?”
“Not that kind,” he says dryly. “Anae’s shallow. Even her depth is shallow as hell. She parades her darkness out and tries to impress me with it, but as far as real feelings… it’s all skin deep. Everything is with her. Nothing hurts her, not really. Maybe she wasn’t always that way, I don’t know her reasons, I just know it’s fucking boring.”