Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 56378 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 282(@200wpm)___ 226(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56378 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 282(@200wpm)___ 226(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)
Nico: If I need to make it an order from ‘The Savior’ for you to listen, then yes, it’s an order. But I don’t want to argue about this. It’s just a few minutes of discomfort, and then you can go on with your life.
Me: What was he like at the meeting? I ask.
Nico: Egotistical. Said your friend was leading him on. He’s an ass. I won’t lie. But that benefits us here.
Me: How’d you figure that?
Nico: Because it means we stroke his ego, and that’ll be the end. If he had any actual principles, or were more humble, we’d need to find another way to dance around his case.
Me: He doesn’t have a case!!!! I type quickly, getting breathless.
Nico: Easy on the exclamation marks, sassy. I’m just telling you how it is.
Sassy… I stare at the word. I even mutter it under my breath. If anybody else called me sassy, I’d probably find it offensive. There goes that tingling sensation again, the warmth spreading through my body.
Me: I’ll get myself mentally prepared to stroke the douchebag’s ego, then.
Nico: This is important. You need to make the apology believable when we’re at the meeting. Don’t go in there like a kid forced to say, ‘I’m sorry.’ You need to make him think you genuinely regret what you did. You need to make him believe you take all the blame for it.
Me: I’m not a KID. I’m twenty-one.
Nico: I know, Arria. It was just a figure of speech. You need to chill.
Me: How can I chill when I have to apologize to a man who doesn’t deserve it?
Nico: Because if you don’t, your life will get far, far more difficult. Just trust me.
Me: I am grateful, Nico. I know you don’t have to do this. It just leaves a nasty taste in my mouth.
Nico: Learn to swallow it. And make it believable. That’s your only choice. What are your plans for the evening?
I almost gasp. Probably—okay, definitely—an overreaction. But why is he asking about my plans? I can’t think of a way that would have anything to do with my problem.
Me: I’m going to try to do some reading.
Nico: Try?
Me: My head’s all over the place right now.
Nico: That’s understandable. What are you reading? Fiction? Non-fiction?
He’s taking a minor interest, probably like any uncle would with his niece. Yet, I feel that warm glow again, the way I felt when his eyes first focused on me. It’s like I matter to him. It’s like I—I need to chill, like he said. Stop letting my thoughts run away.
Me: It’s fiction, a novel about a girl who learns her parents’ marriage became loveless years ago, but they kept up the charade for her. It’s pretty dark and depressing, but the writing is beautiful.
Nico: Yeah, that sounds dark. But those things happen, so it’s valid for the author to explore the issue.
Me: It’s heartbreaking. They feel like they have to remain trapped in the relationship, in the lie, for her sake. But when she finds out, she tells them she wishes they’d ended it years ago. They’ve made her life miserable by staying together and hating each other. Like I said—dark, depressing.
Nico: Marriage is a tricky thing. It sounds like an interesting read.
I chew on my lip, looking at the line about marriage. I want to ask if his marriage is ever tricky. The guilt gnawing at me. It’s not my place to ask—or even think—anything about his relationship with my aunt.
Me: Are you reading anything right now? I ask instead, playing it safe and appropriate.
Nico: I’m reading something fascinating called ‘Commercial Lease Agreement and Tenant Improvement Addendum.’ The prose is quite dry, but the pace… well, that’s slow too. And the characters? Well, they all have uncreative names like Party and Tenant.
I laugh.
Me: It sounds riveting. I added a laughing emoji, and I clicked send.
He doesn’t reply for a minute, then two, then three. I tell myself it’s no big deal. And really, it shouldn’t be. Let’s face it. He’s my uncle. His delayed texts shouldn’t bother me, even if it takes years. I shouldn’t be sitting here, waiting, pining. I never had a boyfriend; I never needed one. Success, I figured, would be when I could finally consider romance.
After ten minutes, rejection sinks in. I have no right to feel that way, which makes it even more frustrating.
He doesn’t reply for the rest of the night. Or the following morning. I spend the time staring at the pages of my book, trying to make the words sink in, with my thoughts away from Nico. My uncle. I seriously need to take his advice. I need to chill.
“I’m sorry about getting us into that mess,” Lilly says.
We’re sitting in the yard of my family’s townhouse, a big Welcome Home sign hanging above the small party. Dad has bought a big firepit. That, combined with the heat coming from the grill, provides just about enough warmth for us all to sit, drink, and chat in our coats.