Total pages in book: 112
Estimated words: 103754 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103754 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 519(@200wpm)___ 415(@250wpm)___ 346(@300wpm)
“For you, Sosie. Your favorite.” Joy smiles, setting it in front of her. And when she sets a bowl in front of me, she says, “Let me know if you need anything.”
When she leaves, I catch Sosie’s eyes shining like a thousand galaxies are trapped inside, and I can’t help the involuntary smile that spreads across my face. I lean closer, hoping to steal an ounce of that warmth to savor later when I don’t have her sunshine shining on me.
“Another time?” she asks.
“Definitely.” What were we talking about?
“What about you? You’re a writer?”
“I’m a finance major. Growing up with no money didn’t inspire me to want to be a starving artist.” I realize too late how that might sound. Attempting to remove the foot from my mouth, I reason, “It’s okay to pursue passions. I just meant—”
“It’s okay.” Her smile is gentle, and no judgment resides in her eyes. “I don’t take it personally. I’m fortunate to have the ability to take time off like that.” Holding her spoon with broth filling the scoop, she says, “The email from earlier was a writing class.”
Why am I holding back? If there’s one person who would appreciate knowing my dream, it’s her. “I’d like to be a writer.”
Setting her spoon down, she tilts her head. “You would?”
“I know it’s ridic—”
“It’s not ridiculous.” She moves forward, food forgotten, as if I’m the only important thing. “Not any more than wanting to be a photographer.” She reaches her hand across the table. When I meet her just shy of halfway, our fingers fold together as if we’ve made a deal—not a business agreement but one of the heart. She asks, “May I read something you’ve written?”
I nod. “Another time, okay?” That has her smiling as she scoops another spoonful of her meal. “So what’s the deal with this place on Christmas? It sounded like it was tradition.”
“It is, for me. I don’t usually see my parents after the party.” She looks around, and when her eyes find mine, she says, “I found this place when I was fourteen, and I’ve come every year since.”
“What about presents under the tree and turkey or ham, you guys probably have prime rib? What about the celebration?”
She sits back, straightening her spine. “They always give me gifts. They’ll be there in the morning.”
Why am I getting the feeling that Sosie is the only one really living in that mansion? “But your parents won’t be?”
“I have no idea. I’m not usually given their itinerary until they’ve landed wherever they’re going. Listen,” she starts, “you don’t need to feel sorry for me. It’s fine. I’m used to it.”
Finished with my bowl, I set my napkin on the table beside it and lean forward to keep the conversation only between us. “I don’t feel sorry, Little Mouse.”
“Little Mouse?”
I smirk. “I’m trying nicknames on for size to see which one sticks.”
She sits back, tossing in the napkin as well. “I’m not sure I like Little Mouse. Try another.”
“I can’t force the process. That one just came to my head.” I chuckle, but we’ve gotten so far off track that I’m not sure there’s a smooth way to circle back. I try, though. “Anyway, I feel bad for not wanting to take you to my apartment. I didn’t think you’d like it.”
“Because of my house?”
“Yeah, who would trade that for my studio apartment?”
She raises her hand just beside her face. “I would if it meant not being alone.” It’s odd to realize that no matter what side of the tracks you’re from, problems aren’t exclusive to one. “Want to spend Christmas together?”
Her brows pull together as concern reshapes her expression, dragging the corners of her mouth down. “Can I ask you something personal?”
“Go ahead.” I don’t brace myself, though I wonder if I should.
“Why won’t you be spending the day with your family?”
I pause, inadvertently taking a deep breath. This is dumb. I don’t think about this stuff anymore. It is what it is. So why am I feeling shame over something I can’t control? I search her eyes and find the innocence in her question, which lowers my defenses. “It’s not something I’d like to talk about, if that’s okay.”
The kindness reordering her delicate features reassures me. “That’s okay. But you’re not alone. We all have our own baggage to lug around.”
Joy drops by again and compliments Sosie’s hair color. Apparently, it was pink last month. I admire the way she lights up, turns the tables on Joy, and gushes over her decorative Christmas-themed sweater. It would be called ugly in a party setting. It’s fun, and she seems quite proud of it. In the middle of their conversation, Joy drops off the folio with the bill slotted inside and goes to check on other guests. I reach for it first. Taking it in hand, I ask, “How do you feel about Stardust?”