Total pages in book: 54
Estimated words: 50527 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 253(@200wpm)___ 202(@250wpm)___ 168(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 50527 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 253(@200wpm)___ 202(@250wpm)___ 168(@300wpm)
The only thing I wanted to grow was my investments and portfolio. Then, when the possibility of never having a child hit me, it was all I could think about. I'm still not sure if I want one, but it irks me that it's highly unlikely.
After the car accident, I thought my worries would be over. The scars are healed, and I’ve learned to walk again. It never occurred to me that male infertility was another issue I would have. The doctors weren't sure if I had the problem before the accident or if it came from it.
I have always had a drive in me, and when I'm told I can't do something or it's not possible, it's the only thing I can focus on. I'm trying to reconcile with myself if I want these things because I can't have them or if I do truly want a family of my own one day. I suppose you'd need to find a partner first, but would I be considered damaged goods?
Still, I’m not sure how I’ve ended up where I am and now the current mayor of New Hope on top of it. A position the people of the town pushed me right into after I had it out with the last mayor, and he went running from the town.
He was a shit mayor who was skimming the books. It wasn’t hard for me to figure out when his assistant, Kindred, came to me with the issue, thinking I was the only one who could handle it. Now the town thinks I’m a saint. I’m not. You’re not a saint for doing the right thing.
That said, I can't say I fully hate it. The busy, working side of it helps keep my days filled. What I'm not a fan of is being so popular and people always trying to talk to me. I’m not the most social person and tend to like to keep to myself.
My scars have also had a hand in me being more reclusive as of late. Not that I give a shit what anyone else thinks, but I hate the stares that come from strangers. I’m not a fan of attention. I wasn’t before the accident either.
A knock sounds on my open office doors, and I turn away from the window where I’ve been watching the snow fall. It’s peaceful and can help rest my mind that never shuts off. If you keep yourself busy enough, you don’t have time to think about other things you don’t want to confront. Next year, I will. I’ll make it one of those New Year's resolutions people always talk about.
“Your mom is trying to get a hold of you,” Kindred tells me, fighting a smirk.
I’ve been dodging my mom for months now. She’s being rather persistent in her motherly demands. I know she means well and only wants the best for me, but I truly wish she’d let go of the idea of matchmaking for me.
"I'll call her back later."
"Yeah, that's not going to work for me," Kindred says. "I'm trying to get work done too, and she's on it this week. And she's bringing up a holiday party she wants you to throw."
"Me? Why do I have to plan a party?" That's the last fucking thing I want to do.
I've never been a fan of the holidays. Everyone is always taking off and cutting out early. Which means work isn't getting done.
Fuck me. I'm as busy as I was when I lived in the city. I can't help myself.
"I'll call her." I grab my phone off my desk and hit her number. It barely rings once and she's answering.
"Mayor," she greets me.
"Mom." She never misses a chance to point out I’m a mayor. When anyone meets her for the first time, she’ll introduce herself, and the next thing out of her mouth will be her telling them her son is a mayor.
“I’ve been trying to reach you all morning.”
“It’s nine, Mom.”
“Right, I forget when I’m in the city.”
“There isn’t a time change.”
“Fine, you got me. It’s early, but I know you’re up at five.” I can’t deny that. It doesn’t matter what time I go to bed; I’m always up at the same time even when I don’t want to be, but I’m not going to simply lie in bed and do nothing.
“Is there an issue that you’re in such a hurry to reach me about?” I ask, wanting to get to the point, the one I know is going to be about her setting me up on a date, or trying to. It’s the same every single time she starts calling me like this.
"Since you're the mayor and you have that big fancy house, I think you should throw a Christmas party.” I’m absolutely dreading it, but I know it's what she wants. My mom drives me nuts, but if she wants to come here and throw a party for Christmas, she can have at it. I can grin and bear it for one night.