Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 112249 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 561(@200wpm)___ 449(@250wpm)___ 374(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112249 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 561(@200wpm)___ 449(@250wpm)___ 374(@300wpm)
It wasn’t her fault.
The whole week just went straight to shit.
“And do what, Margot?” Gracen asked. “Instead of being over here doing something, and making money, mind you—no, I’ll sit over there and look out the window to see what’s going on over here. Right, okay.”
No dice.
It was going to rain all damn weekend, also. That put any hikes or jogs off the table. Showers and dampness were one thing, but Gracen didn’t want to be soaking wet like a drowned rat just for some exercise and a decent picture.
Margot didn’t have anything else beneficial to add to the conversation, so she went back to her work of sweeping while Gracen continued moping in her swivel chair. Gracen, who didn’t want to look more pathetic than she already did holding her head in her hands, flopped further into the seat while she piled a messy bun of her long blonde hair high.
It was that moment when Delaney came back into the salon from the rear rooms.
“Margot’s trying to help,” Delaney said as she crossed the floor, “and you’re being a bitch.”
Gracen side-eyed her best friend all the way to the cash where Delaney popped open the register. “Margot can tell me if she thinks I’m being a bitch, thank you.”
“I think you’re being a bit of a bitch,” Margot deadpanned before disappearing into the back.
“See?”
From the register, Delaney opened a hand in the direction Margot had gone. Just as fast, she returned to counting the small bit of cash in the register, so they could close it before leaving. Delaney passed Gracen a silent look that practically screamed and what about it?
“One day off work isn’t going to help—”
“First of all, you’re off on Sunday, too. That’s two days. And nobody’s saying that it’ll fix everything, but you know what isn’t helping you, Gracen?” Delaney interjected before Gracen could finish.
Her defences jumped sky-high at the question because Gracen had an idea what the answer might be, but nobody liked facing the reflection in the mirror on bad days.
More than anything, Gracen wanted to tell Delaney—and Margot, whenever she got out from the backrooms—to drop it. She hated that her ex had any control over her life to begin with when she’d accepted it was over a long fucking time ago. Even if that control came in the form of something like a run-in which put her in a bad mood for the rest of the week.
She didn’t want it to be like that.
Anger was worse when bitter.
“Well, do you even want to know?” Delaney asked.
Gracen sighed, rolling her head sideways on the chair to survey Delaney finishing her job at the cash register. “What’s not helping me? I think I have a lot of that figured out, Delaney.”
“What doesn’t help,” Delaney continued like Gracen hadn’t said a thing, “is the way you get up day after day and forge on ahead like everything else that bothers you isn’t also happening. You’re more than happy to let the whole world burn down around you as long as you can grit your teeth and smile through it. You don’t always have to do that, Gracen. Nobody else gets through life doing that to themselves. You can say fuck it, for a while. Or fuck you, for that matter. If somebody needs to hear it—and you shouldn’t feel like you have to pine and whine about it for days, either.”
Right.
Like with Sonny in the parking lot.
Except it’d been a couple of days since then and Gracen didn’t feel a whole lot better about the things she’d said. Mostly because the words hadn’t been exactly what she thought he should hear from her, not entirely, so the whole thing still felt unfinished.
Something else to hang out rent-free in the back of Gracen’s mind. She really wished she’d been less honest with Margot and Delaney about the reason for her mood, but good friends who saw through the bullshit and called you on it were a rare find.
“Maybe I was a bit of a bitch,” Gracen said as Margot exited the rear hall with a basket full of clean towels.
“A bit?” Margot asked.
“I’m sorry.”
Margot shrugged one shoulder but winked before darting up the stairs with the basket of towels. Her voice echoed down the stairwell, reaching Gracen and Delaney. “I can’t work in these conditions!”
Delaney cackled; slamming closed the register with a bump of her elbow against the edge. “That’s it for that—and you.” She pointed at Gracen. “Don’t come in tomorrow. Take the day.”
“Delaney—”
“Go for a drive upriver if you want to. Go see Mimi—”
“Don’t use my grandmother to manipulate me into taking a day off work,” Gracen interjected, but she was already smiling.
Delaney noticed as much. “It’s okay to take time away. To say you need to, you know?”
She really didn’t, though. How many times in her life did it feel like the earth stopped moving around her because of this event or that only for Gracen to get up the next day and go on. Everyone else around her kept on like nothing happened, after all, and she had not found a safe place to land when she fell. That helped to motivate Gracen to do what always needed to be done. The skill of survival developed in many ways.