Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 114068 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 570(@200wpm)___ 456(@250wpm)___ 380(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114068 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 570(@200wpm)___ 456(@250wpm)___ 380(@300wpm)
“Mom, I tried to do the law thing, and I hated it.”
“You should’ve given it another chance. It’s not too late, you know. Barb’s daughter just finished law school at the ripe old age of thirty, and she got a signing bonus and matching 401(k) contributions at her new firm.”
“Well, I’m not Barb’s daughter.”
I swallow the lump that’s appeared in my throat. I know it’s just the PMS fucking with me—this time of the month, I always get super emotional. But Mom’s old implication that I’m doing the wrong thing—I’m on the wrong path—hits harder than usual.
“I know, honey.” Mom sighs. “I’m sorry. I just worry about you is all. I don’t want you to get stuck down the road if things don’t work out with Bellamy Brooks.”
What she doesn’t say: I don’t want you to get stuck like me.
Mom quit her job at a marketing company after she had my older brother, and she never went back to work. To be honest, I don’t think she ever had big ambitions for her career. Probably part of the reason why I do. But I know she regrets not having more agency in her life. More financial freedom. Maybe then, she wouldn’t have had to tolerate my dad’s awfulness for so long. I’m really proud of her for finally having the courage to get a divorce, but I wish she’d done it a lot sooner.
Why do you think I work so hard, Mom? I wish you’d trust me to make the right choices.
No one wishes more than I do that I wanted the kind of stable, respectable job my parents pictured for me. I even went so far as to take the LSAT my senior year of college in the hopes I could make that path fit.
I bombed the test. I took it as a sign from the universe that I was meant to do other things, but clearly Mom still disagrees how many years later.
My boobs throb. I put my hand on one, then the other. “I’m doing my best to make sure that never happens. Money’s rolling in. If we’re smart and we play our cards right, I think we have a real shot at being the next big thing. I really love what we’re doing, Mom.”
“I’ll cross my fingers and toes for you. I’m actually wearing a pair of my Bellamy Brooks right now!”
I smile, even as an arrow of something unpleasant arcs through my middle at the thought of Mom sitting by herself in her boots in the house I grew up in. I really do feel for her—getting a divorce so late in the game has to be an incredibly lonely experience.
“Lemme guess. A pair of the pink shorties?”
“You’re good, Wheeler Marie.”
“Yup.” I smile. “I’m glad you’re enjoying the boots, Mom.”
“I get so many compliments on them.”
Of course you do. I made sure they’re fabulous, just like every other pair we design and manufacture.
Another pause. My stomach rumbles. I’m nauseous, but I’m also kind of hungry. Which makes no sense, as it’s only three o’clock in the afternoon, and supper isn’t until five at Lucky River Ranch. I’ve been here for a few days now so Mollie and I could be together for our summer launch. She’s still not feeling well enough to travel.
Wonder what Patsy is making for supper? I hope it’s meat loaf. Weird craving, but hers is so delicious, especially when she makes it with this sweet pea risotto that’s buttery and creamy and just, yeah, out-of-this-world delicious.
“So how’s the ranch? You line dance with any cowboys recently?”
My heart somersaults. It’s been a little over three weeks since Duke and I parted ways after that incredible weekend in Aspen. I wish I could say I’ve been so busy with work that I haven’t thought about him or his laugh or the way his hands felt on my body.
That I haven’t been plagued by a sense of never-ending regret for not taking him up on the invitation to watch Titanic at his place.
But that would be a lie. I think about him constantly, which is why I try my best to avoid him. I just don’t see a path to happily ever after for us. My sense of self-worth is…wobbly at best. And my career is finally taking off. I have to honor all the blood, sweat, and tears I’ve poured into Bellamy Brooks over the years by making hay while the sun is shining. That means working more than I have. Ever.
I’ve made it a point to not sit down for meals in Patsy’s kitchen, opting instead for the doggie bags she’ll make for me. I’ll usually eat in here in the primary bedroom, camped out at the desk in front of the big window that overlooks the front yard.
Duke has texted me a few times. He even called the day after we got back and the day after that. I wanted to pick up the phone so, so badly. But that seemed unfair of me, so I sent his calls to voicemail.