Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 96292 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 481(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96292 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 481(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
“He’ll absolutely be here,” Callie says. “And we’ll get you something a little less revealing to wear. Something less distracting.”
“Callie?” The instructor stops us. She squeezes Callie’s hand. “I’m so glad you’re back. We’ve missed you.”
She returns a half smile. “Thank you, Tracey.”
“If you ever want to talk—” Tracey says.
“I’m good, but thank you.” Callie continues toward the exit.
I don’t say anything on the drive home until we’re halfway to the house. “Why do you need a muse?”
“I don’t.”
“Why does Mr. Rawlings think you need one?”
“I told you. He thinks I need to fall back in love with him, but that’s not the problem. Marriages go through many seasons. Ours is in winter. It’s been a long winter.”
“So you haven’t been to Pilates because your marriage is in winter?”
“Sort of.” She keeps her gaze out the window.
“I don’t understand,” I say.
“It’s complicated.”
“Are you saying I can’t handle complicated? My whole life has been complicated.” I slow down to let ducks cross the road toward the lake.
“You’re a muse. Not a therapist.”
“Do you have a therapist?”
“I used to.”
“Do you want to kill yourself?” The words come out like a breath I’ve been holding too long—the thing everyone is thinking, but no one wants to say.
And now I know why.
Saying it makes it feel like a real possibility. There’s no more deniability. If she does it, no one can say, “I had no idea.”
Fuck.
What have I done?
“What are you going to do if I say yes?” she asks with no emotion in her words.
I slam on the brakes just before pulling into the garage, racking my brain for what possible reason she would have to kill herself.
“You’re depressed,” I say, and I’m not sure if I’m asking her a question or stating the only possible reason she might have.
“Have you ever been depressed?” she asks.
“I don’t really know what that means. Sad? Are you asking if I’ve been sad? Because my life has been a constant string of awful things. Is that sad? Probably. Do I want to kill myself? No.”
“Do you feel sad every day?”
I shake my head, feeling irritated. Discussing emotions has never been my thing. But I can’t complain because I started this conversation. “I get angry and pissed off. Annoyed by others. Sadness just feels like a worthless emotion. What’s the point of it unless someone dies—” I close my eyes and slowly shake my head as a light goes on. “Someone died,” I whisper.
Silence.
I’m afraid to look at her, so I open my eyes and stare into the garage. Rupert’s cars. The far wall where I have my belongings hidden. I look at anything but her.
“Thank you for going with me to class,” she says. “See if there’s anything Rupert wants you to do. You’ve inspired me enough today.” She doesn’t wait for me to open her door. And I don’t feel like she’s being honest about me inspiring her today.
When she’s in the house, I call June.
“Hey!” she answers with a cheery voice.
I immediately relax. “What are you doing?”
“Shopping with my mom before I have to work this afternoon. What are you doing?”
“I’m in a unitard, sitting in Callie’s Tesla, talking to you instead of checking in with Rupert, which is what I’m supposed to be doing.”
“Wait.” She laughs. “Back up. You’re in a unitard?”
“Yeah. I look like a wrestler.”
“Is there a reason you’re wearing it?”
“I’ve been enrolled in Pilates with Callie.”
June snorts. “And you wore a unitard to class? Why?”
“Because Rupert is a dick.”
“I’m going to need a picture.”
“Hell no,” I say.
“I’ll send you a picture of me.”
“In a unitard?”
“In the bikini I’m trying on right now in the dressing room.”
I’ve never snapped a selfie so fast in my life. “Sent,” I say.
“Oh, just got it, let me look. Wait, it’s only the top half of your body.”
“That’s all you get. Now send me a pic.”
“I’m only sending the top half of my body.”
“That’s fine.” I laugh.
“Ugh. No. I’ll send the bottom half.”
“That works too.”
“Flynn. This isn’t fair. No picture for you. If you want to see my bikini, you’ll have to come to my apartment later, and I’ll show you.”
“When are your parents leaving?”
“They haven’t decided yet. But I’m sure after dinner tonight, they’ll go back to their hotel, and I’ll be at my apartment. You should come to dinner with us again.”
“I’m sure they’re here to see you, not me.”
“Stop. I want you to come.”
“I know you do, but we’re talking about dinner with your parents right now.”
“Oh my god, Flynn. You’re all talk. No action.”
“There’s a name for what I am,” I say. “But I don’t actually know what word I’m looking for because I’ve never used it. If someone said it, I’d recognize it.”
“That’s helpful,” she says.
“It makes me think of being cold, but it’s not shiver.”
“Chivalrous?”
“That’s it!”
June laughs. “You think not having sex with me is chivalrous?”