Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 117415 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 587(@200wpm)___ 470(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117415 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 587(@200wpm)___ 470(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
“Oh, it is, it is.” My mom’s barely touched her sandwich with as much as she’s talking. “TJ’s been around it his whole life. It’ll be second nature for him to jump right in when he graduates.”
And there it is. Again, the nail driving into my future’s coffin, a nail my mom loves to pry out and drive back in over and over.
I glance over the table at Austin.
He’s well-aware of my desire to not inherit the burden of our family business. Somehow, that makes remarks like that from my mom easier to handle. I don’t feel nearly as alone with it.
After smiling at me, he faces my mom. “Y’know what I think? TJ’s such a smarty pants, he could waltz right out of that school and into any career on the planet and make it look easy.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” she says, though I don’t suspect she’s hearing quite what she’s agreeing with, making her words seem a touch empty to me. She giggles at a thought and peers over at me with a shake of her head. “Where’d your brilliance come from? I can’t take the credit. I was just awful in algebra. Three tutors and I still flunked and had to finish in summer school. Have you seen TJ solve math equations? He’s a genius! Absolute genius!”
“I’ve seen him solve a thing or two,” says Austin, eyeing me, “but can’t say a math problem’s been one of ‘em yet.”
“What’s he solved for you?” asks my mom, delighted to hear.
He studies me with sincerity. “TJ keeps me from drownin’ in my own head, every day.”
The thoughtful sentiment of his words linger in the air for entirely too long.
Is that something a friend says to another mere friend?
My mom drinks in his answer, unaware of the subtext, as she nods, picks up her sandwich, and says, “Well, we all sure can use someone like that in our lives, can’t we?” before taking a bite.
Austin and I meet each other’s eyes across the table.
It’s almost too much, what he does to me with his words to my mom. I don’t know what I expected, but it certainly wasn’t that he’d turn out to be a secret parent whisperer.
After lunch, my mom says, “You boys go ahead and do your thing. I’ve taken enough of your time. No, no, really,” she insists when Austin tries to help with the dishes. Then she teases with, “If only my own son offered to help half as much as you do.”
I can’t escape to my room fast enough, dragging Austin with me. The door shuts and my back’s immediately against it. “That … can’t happen again.”
Entirely unworried, Austin walks around my room, taking in everything a piece at a time. I stay with my back against the door, watching him for a while, as the quiet atmosphere of my room settles in my ears. After that talkative and eventful lunch, I suddenly realize how desperately I needed this silence.
He stops in front of a picture on the wall. “This your prom?”
“Yeah.”
“I didn’t go to mine,” he says, crossing his arms and sighing at the picture. “Didn’t have a date. Buddies wanted to go in a group, singles-crashing-the-prom sort of thing. But I wasn’t about that. I was too much of a romantic. I was still holdin’ out, tryin’ to work up the courage to ask my crush to the dance.” He shakes his head. “Didn’t happen. He took someone else. I just stayed home with my guitar and wrote my very first heartbreak ballad.” He faces me. “I guess what I’m tryin’ to say is … I learned pretty early on not to sit on chances that can slip away—” He snaps his fingers. “—like that.”
I swallow. “Is … that what I am? A chance?”
He moves away from the picture and stands in front of me. He gently takes my hands into his. “I don’t know what you are, TJ, but it’s somethin’ I’ve needed for a long time. And I sure don’t want to miss out on it.”
I pretend my guts aren’t leaping around inside me even still, despite the calm between us now. “I would’ve taken you to prom.”
He smiles. “That so?”
“And I want to hear that heartbreak ballad sometime.”
“We’re queuing up a whole setlist I owe you someday.” After a second, he smirks. “I think your mom likes me, by the way.”
Panic is still sitting in the driver’s seat, racing through every horrible way this can go so wrong. But the confidence in Austin’s eyes keeps me grounded right here in front of him, a tether of serenity in my ocean of crazy.
I need to tell my mom Austin isn’t just a friend.
It’d be so easy. Just a short cluster of words and it’s over.
But what is he? What would I replace the word “friend” with?