Total pages in book: 143
Estimated words: 136743 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 684(@200wpm)___ 547(@250wpm)___ 456(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136743 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 684(@200wpm)___ 547(@250wpm)___ 456(@300wpm)
“You had Edward, but weren’t you lonely in your marriage?” Yasmen asks.
I was. They both know. Answering would be redundant, so I don’t bother replying.
“Maybe the key is finding contentment wherever you are, whoever you’re with,” Yasmen goes on. “Knowing you always have you. Do you have to deny yourself happiness with someone else in order to be happy with yourself?”
“That’s the problem.” I look down at my hands in my lap. “I’m not sure anymore. Of all the things Edward took from me, the trust I had in myself seems to be the hardest to recover.”
Servers bring food out before I get to say more, but as soon as we have our plates and are eating, my friends return to the subject, of course.
“I saw the way he watched you at the Harvest Festival,” Yasmen says, a spoonful of shrimp and grits poised at her mouth. “That man been gone for you.”
“He has been planning this for some time, apparently,” I laugh around a mouthful of green beans. “You should have seen what he had in his nightstand.”
“Condoms?” Hendrix asks, cracking a smile.
“Yes! So many condoms.” I press a napkin to my lips to keep from spewing food on a laugh. “He was like uber-prepared, which is so Judah. I’m surprised he didn’t have lube.”
“Girl’s gotta carry her own,” Hendrix tsks. “I always have emergency lube.”
“We know.” Yasmen drizzles sarcasm over the words. “You gave it to us as stocking stuffers last Christmas.”
“And you’re welcome,” Hendrix cackles.
“So how are you feeling about it all?” Yasmen asks, taking us back to the things I’ve been trying not to face.
“I don’t know.” I shrug miserably. “All I do know is that he’s amazing. I’m not sure I want to go back to how things were before that night, but maybe I should go back so I don’t start feeling too much or become too dependent.”
“Don’t overthink it,” Hendrix says, the sobriety in her tone all the more marked because she’s usually the one who keeps us laughing. “You like Judah. Judah likes you. Don’t let Edward ruin your good thing.”
“This isn’t about Edward,” I say. “It’s about me. About being able to stand on my own and trust myself.”
“You were standing on your own,” Yasmen interjects. “Edward wasn’t around at the end. He wasn’t present. He wasn’t loving. You were raising those girls, managing that house, building your investment portfolio. The only way that man could build real wealth was to steal it. He tried to tear you down. He needed more from you than you ever needed from him. It’s his bad luck you finally figured that out.”
“And as soon as he was out of the picture,” Hendrix says, “you showed everyone, including yourself, exactly what you’re made of.”
“It was never you that couldn’t be trusted, Sol,” Yasmen adds, squeezing my hand. “It was always him you couldn’t trust. You are the most capable, trustworthy person I know.”
“And what about me?” Hendrix asks, allowing a little levity.
“Yeah, you too, whatever.” Yasmen rolls her eyes and shoots Hendrix an affectionate smile. “My point is everyone knows how amazing you are, Sol. Edward’s the one person who didn’t want you to believe it. There’s nothing he would like more than for you to waste another twenty years ‘recovering’ from him.”
“I just didn’t think I’d find something, someone who felt like this so soon after the divorce,” I admit. “It’s kind of terrifying.”
“You know what Aunt Byrd used to say?” Yasmen asks, a brief shadow clouding her expression at the mention of Josiah’s aunt who passed away, the woman who was like a second mother to her.
“What?” I ask, holding my breath.
“As fast as God gives,” Yasmen says, “as fast as you get. One thing you shouldn’t second-guess is a blessing.”
“And you think Judah’s a blessing?” I ask.
Hendrix shifts a bite of fried green tomatoes to give me a half grin. “Don’t you?”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
SOLEDAD
Anybody up?”
I aim the question at my camera from the chaise longue I picked up at an antique shop. Though I still have some DIY work to do on my she shed, I think I can make it fit in here once I ditch the Pepto-pink upholstery.
“In case you’re wondering,” I continue, “it’s well after midnight where I am, and I’m still awake. I know. You probably saw my post earlier this week about making sure to get eight hours of sleep. I did try. I just keep waking up.”
Comments jackhammer at the bottom of my screen as followers weigh in.
“‘Chamomile tea.’” I read one. “Great suggestion, MarilynMonMo. Let’s see what else. DTF2000 says, ‘Getting laid always knocks me right out. Some people still f*ck even when they’re self-partnering. Go for it. #datingmyselfchallenge.’”
I clear my throat and hope the warmth in my cheeks doesn’t actually show. “Duly noted. Thank you for that sage advice, DTF2000. And with that, I think I will log off and give it one more try. Night, my loves. Sleep tight.”