Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 69333 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 347(@200wpm)___ 277(@250wpm)___ 231(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69333 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 347(@200wpm)___ 277(@250wpm)___ 231(@300wpm)
“You always said I needed a dose of reality,” he continues. “Less of being surrounded by people who smile and nod at everything I say. Life without all of the money and fame and people doing everything for me. This is sort of mostly that. You can’t really expect me to give up all the money. I worked hard for that shit.”
There are, however, some basic flaws to his plan, as far as I can tell. “What about being recognized by fans?”
“I have a plan.” He sits forward in his chair. “Say something, Audrey, you’re killing me.”
“What exactly does this ordinary involve?” she asks.
“Me fitting in with your life here and figuring out who I am away from the grind of constantly touring and recording and promoting.”
She sighs and then nods.
“I can stay?”
“Oh, I suppose so.” Grandma sighs again. “You did buy me the place. But you’ll have to sleep on the couch. I never got around to purchasing a mattress for the third bedroom.”
“He bought you the house?” My eyebrows reach for the sky. “Holy shit.”
“It’s none of your business, dear.”
“The couch is good,” he says, turning to me. “The couch is a dream. Hey, June, would you do me a favor?”
This is actually my second time cutting hair this week. Which is not to say I know how to do it, but breakup bangs happen. Hopefully just the once because they’re kind of tragic. It’s going to take me forever to grow them out.
Hacking off a ponytail worth of Nash’s hair seems a good place to start. Then I attack the remains of his mane. There’s an intimacy to this. To being so close to him. Hairdressers must get used to it, but fondling someone’s hair is a novelty for me. He’s sitting on a stool in the bathroom, watching me work in the mirror. In theory he’s going to have a few inches worth of light brown hair left all over. But to repeat the obvious, it’s not like I know what I’m doing.
“How much do you think I could sell the ponytail for?”
He thinks it over. “I’d be disappointed if you got less than a thousand.”
Grandma deposits the broom by the door. “Make sure you clean up, Nash. I’m not your housekeeper anymore.”
“But I’m a guest, right?” he asks.
“Guests are invited. You showed up unannounced. And ordinary people pick up after themselves.” With these words, Grandma departs.
Nash just smiles.
“It’s nice that you kept in touch when she retired,” I say.
He winces. “I had my people send her flowers on her birthday and a bottle of single malt for New Year’s. It’s not like I put in any real effort.”
“That you have people is wild.”
“I had people. I was a company. But that’s all going away now,” he says. “What do you do?”
“Web design. Building websites and online stores for small businesses.”
“Do you like it?”
“Yeah. Especially the ability to work when and where it suits me.”
He watches me in the mirror for a while. “You’re still quietly losing your shit about me buying her the house, aren’t you?”
“So much. But like she said, it’s nothing to do with me.”
This house isn’t grandiose, but it is damn nice. Three bedrooms, two bathrooms, midcentury, with a porch facing the street and a deck making the most of the river frontage out back. The walls are white and the floors are cork. Situated in a small town with a brewery and a farmers’ market and other cool and quaint things.
Property like this would not have been cheap.
“What I like most about making this sort of money is getting to do stuff for people,” he says.
“She wanted a beautiful place to retire to, and you made that happen. Thank you.”
Nash’s gaze moves away from the mirror, and he doesn’t respond. Guess he isn’t comfortable with gratitude. “So, what happened with your ex?”
“We’re just baring our souls to each other?”
“Why not?” he asks. “Life is too short for half measures.”
“I wanted dick and respect, which was apparently way too much to ask for.” I keep chopping away with the clippers, hitting a knotted section of hair requiring careful work with the brush. “Sorry if I’m hurting you. How did it get in this condition?”
“The last few days have been kind of hectic.”
I nod.
“I grew it long when I was a teenager cause I wanted to look different to other members of my family, and it was also my answer to stage fright,” he says. “Having a curtain of hair between me and the audience. Covering half of my face with the beard. There were all these songs I wanted to share, but the idea of being up there with people staring at me made me want to puke.”
“Must have been hard, wanting to perform but hating the idea of going out there.” And now it’s my turn to share. Properly this time. Dammit. “My boyfriend decided we’d gotten too serious too soon and wanted to take a step back from our relationship. To go back to just casually dating, even though we’d been living together for a year.”