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)
“Haven’t seen any lights on there.” He nods to the place next door. A big old wooden three-story house painted navy blue, with windows in the attic and a deck with a fancy hot tub. “You know anything about it?”
“Apparently, it’s a pricey rental vacation home. Grandma said it was packed the last two summers, but business has been slow this year.”
He grunts and drinks more beer. Then he asks, “What’s in your car?”
I cock my head.
“You said it was full. So, what did you consider important enough to bring out here?”
“Well…there are the obvious things, like clothes and skincare and my favorite books. Lots of books actually,” I say. “The only things I took from the apartment were a dinner set I got from a potter back in Phoenix, these cool chunky vintage wine and water glasses that have a suspended bubble in the base, and some pieces of art. I swapped website builds for paintings a few times.”
“Nice.”
“Yeah.” I take a sip of beer.
“What’s your dominant feeling about your ex right now?”
“Are you turning psychic counselor?”
“Yes. And I’m sensing a whole lot of anger coming from you.”
“Eh,” I say. “He kicked me out with the rent paid, the fridge full, and the utilities up to date. I trusted him and actively made his life better. Got him organized and turned his bachelor pad into a home. And in the end, he treated me like shit.”
“What an asshole.”
I frown. “I don’t disagree with you. It has occurred to me though that maybe I shouldn’t have taken on such a mothering role.”
“You think you did too much?” he asks.
“Choosing someone in his late twenties who still sleeps on a mattress on the floor wasn’t smart of me. It’s not like he didn’t have the money to buy furniture. He just couldn’t be bothered, and his work always came first. Such a curious mix of slacker and corporate fiend.”
“Mm.”
“What do you think?”
“Finding someone who matches your wants and where you’re at in life looks hard as fuck.”
I nod and sip my beer. “Can I tell you something awful?”
“Please do.”
“I took the TV remote and the plate from inside the microwave when I left. Just to mess with him.”
“Junebug.” He raises a brow. “I salute your saltiness.”
“Thank you. It was juvenile, but you can’t say he didn’t deserve it,” I say. “I knew a girl in college who got cheated on. She put shrimp in the curtain rods in his dorm room.”
“Whoa. That would smell so bad. My brother once knew this girl who…”
“What?”
He shakes his head. “Nothing. Did he make you happy at the start? Your ex?”
“I thought I was. But now I’m not so sure. It might have just been high hopes and hormones.”
“Do you miss him?”
“Nope. He murdered any positive feelings I had for him,” I say. “To be honest, I have a sneaking suspicion I was in the relationship because I thought I needed to be in a relationship. But don’t tell anyone. It’s kind of embarrassing.”
He grunts.
“I always liked the idea of being somebody’s world.”
“Is that healthy?”
“Probably not. Sounds sort of codependent when you think about it.” I sigh. “Don’t tell anyone about that either.”
“Worry not. Your secrets are safe with me.”
“What’s your longest relationship?”
He sighs. “I don’t know. Say about a year. My job doesn’t make room for being present for the day-to-day stuff. What I consider a relationship and what you do is probably pretty different. We basically just kept in touch and got together when we were in the same town.”
“Do you even want to be in a relationship? Is that something you’re interested in?”
“Having a person sounds nice in theory.” He frowns. “But figuring out my life has to come first. What about you?”
“I am in no rush to have my head and my heart messed with again. And starting over does seem like something you should do solo.”
He nods. “I think you’re right about that. You’re a very sensible person, Junebug.”
“Sometimes. You’re a good listener.”
“It’s where inspiration for some of my songs came from,” he says. “Hearing people talk about their lives and the things they’d experienced.”
“You’re a storyteller, which is a beautiful thing.”
“It is. Thank you.” He smiles. “I think I’m done for now though. Sharing my songs was such a high. When inspiration strikes and you write something you know people are going to hear and be moved by. Like it might make them feel seen and to be a part of something.”
“That’s what we all want.”
“Yeah. I think so. I just wanted to make great music,” he says. “But between you and me, I think part of the reason I didn’t want to go into the writing phase this time around was the loneliness.”
“Have you tried writing with people around?”
“I used to when I was younger. And I take notes when I’m on the road.” He pauses. “Loneliness feels like a part of the problem. But the hustle in general was weighing me down.”