Total pages in book: 56
Estimated words: 51507 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 258(@200wpm)___ 206(@250wpm)___ 172(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 51507 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 258(@200wpm)___ 206(@250wpm)___ 172(@300wpm)
My fingertips were blue, and I had dry mouth. If I got any more nervous, he’d be visiting me in the hospital tomorrow instead of going out to dinner. I was starting to feel lightheaded.
And, apparently, I was hyperventilating into the phone. “Hey, hey, slow down,” he coaxed as gently as he could. “Take deep breaths. Slow and easy,” he began to repeat hypnotically until my breathing slowed. “Raychel, honey, what’s wrong? Are you not feeling well?”
It was my out. If I said I wasn’t, he would probably let me out of it altogether. But part of me craved another opportunity to see him, in any way, shape, or form, and that was the part that was complaining the loudest. I missed him. I wanted to see him every day, just to drink him in, simply be in his presence. Most of me would have preferred to do that just as a fly on the wall, invisible to him, but able to be physically close to him, hear his voice, smell his spicy aftershave.
Another part of myself, one that had only recently begun to find its voice, was a ticking clock. Not my biological clock—that one was thankfully silent for now. This was the clock that had begun ticking when Father died so suddenly, in the prime of his life. How long was I going to hang back from life, being a spectator rather than a participant, watching friends meeting and getting married and having babies, living the life that I was barely present in, alone and lonely as I was?
Nothing could ever come of my relationship—whatever that was, there really wasn’t a name for it—with Anthony. But I could glean from it what I could. I could have dinner with him and have a good time and do something other than sitting around my apartment when I wasn’t working, completely absorbed in my paintings, living through them where it was comfortable and safe, instead of in the real world, closer to the man I wanted to lie down next to for the rest of my life.
I sighed, hating the war that raged within me about Anthony, desperately wishing that things had been different between us from the start, then feeling the familiar pangs of guilt about somehow betraying my father with my sinful thoughts. “No, I’m fine, really.”
“Are you sure? I can be over there in a second...”
I knew that was no threat, it was a promise, but the last thing I needed was for him to see my apartment. He knew that I lived in the low-rent district part of the city and had always campaigned for me to move somewhere—almost anywhere—else. But the finances weren’t there right now—never had been—for me to be able to afford a move, and I absolutely refused to take any money from anyone. I’d never taken one penny from my father even though he’d tried to persuade me on an almost daily basis.
So there I sat. “No! No, you don’t need to come over. I’m fine.”
He didn’t sound as if he believed me, not one bit. “I think I’m going to arrive on your doorstep in a few minutes unless you convince me otherwise.”
“No! Don’t come over here! I’m fine. Really.”
The line was silent for a moment, then he asked in the gentlest voice I’d ever heard him use, “Is the idea of having dinner with me so terrifying? You have known me for years, Raychel. Am I such a monster?”
“No, no. I don’t think you’re a monster at all.”
“Yeah, but I can make you hyperventilate with just the thought of having to have dinner with me.”
“I’m—I’m just scattered is all. I’ve been painting and my mind sort of gets lost. A bit spacey, I guess. That’s all.”
“I know. I know how important art is to you, but that’s the only thing you do, and being holed up in your apartment by yourself can’t be healthy. But maybe I can help you change that. Maybe we can get you out and about some—have a little fun. God knows after the past couple of years we’ve had, you and I deserve it. I was told today that I’m practically a monk, so I need to not work so much myself and have a little fun. Good food. Good wine. Good company. A good dinner just like we did... just like Dasha enjoyed.”
I was just about to faint. What he was suggesting was just about as close to heaven as I’d ever be able to imagine achieving in this lifetime. And it did sound like fun. Especially with him. I had missed it. My father loved good food, wine, and company. I just couldn’t afford it.
Before the rest of me had a chance to squelch the impulse, I answered, “Yes, that sounds like a good idea.”