Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 91490 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 457(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91490 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 457(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
“Frank—my ex-fiancé—he had money. Not Colorado Club money, but he was very comfortable. To me, and probably to most people in our town, he was rich.”
“But he wasn’t happy?”
“No,” she says. “I think he was. I just don’t think I would have been happy with him.”
“And you were marrying him for the money?” I hope she can’t hear the edge in my voice.
“No,” she says, her voice bright, like she’s not offended by my question. “Not for me, anyway. I think it was the safety for my family. Frank is kind and generous, and my mom loves him. I have three sisters who… let’s just say I’m the oldest and the most sensible. Frank’s given one of them a job. He represented a secure, dependable future.”
“But you didn’t marry him.”
She pulls in a deep breath. “It wasn’t enough. I didn’t love him.” She takes a sip of her drink. “And honestly, I think it was important for him to take care of me—in every sense. I was going to live in the home he bought years before we met. I worked at his garage. I slotted into his life. That worked for him. It gave him a sense of control.”
“I think that sounds like it could be… constraining for you.”
She gasps, and I feel her body shift beside me. “Constrained. That’s exactly how I felt in Oregon. It was like I was living in a box and could feel every edge. Every corner. I knew every inch of that box, and if I married Frank, it was all I’d ever know.” She takes a sip of her drink. “I sound ridiculous.”
“I don’t think you sound ridiculous at all.” I can’t say it to her, but I think the way she’s describing her life is kind of poetic. And more than a little sad.
“My mom would definitely think I was being ridiculous. I guess that’s why I’m in Star Falls and not back in Oregon.”
“Because of your mom, not your fiancé?”
She pauses as if she’s really considering my question—like what I’ve asked her is important and she wants to give it due consideration. The way we’re talking, it’s like we’ve known each other years rather than days. “Frank was a meal ticket for her. She knew she’d never have to worry about rent or bills as long as Frank was in the family.” She glances down at her mug, like she doesn’t like what she just admitted.
“She expected him to look after all of you.”
“I think that was his expectation, too.”
“And he was prepared to do that because he really loved you?”
Her eyes stay fixed on her mug. “I feel terrible. I just left. I should have looked him in the eye and told him what I was feeling. Instead, I sent him a text as I boarded my flight. I just knew my mom would force me to go through with it if I stuck around. Once I decided I couldn’t marry him, there was no way back. If I had married him, I would have resented him and my mother for the rest of my life.”
“Couldn’t you just tell your mother you didn’t want to marry Frank?”
She fiddles with the edge of her mug. “You’d think so, right? Problem is, my mom has a way of making me feel guilty unless she gets her way.” She stares into her mug. “She would have told me I was being selfish and reckless, that I would never find a man as good to me as Frank was.” She’s chewing on the inside of her cheek like she thinks her mom might have been right. I have the urge to scoot closer, to tell her she did the right thing. But who the fuck am I to this woman?
“Sounds like she’s more concerned with her happiness than yours,” I say.
“It’s weird, the farther I am from her, the more differently I see her. I always thought she was just doing whatever she needed to do to make sure our family made it. But now I think she was making me do whatever she wanted to make sure our family made it.”
I set my mug on the railing. “Sometimes parents don’t realize the pressure they’re putting on their children,” I say. “Or they don’t think about it.” For years after his death, I wondered how my dad slept at night, knowing he’d taken out loan after loan on the family farm to pay off his gambling debts. Eventually, I realized he wasn’t thinking about us at all. He was only ever thinking about himself.
“Do you think I’ve been selfish?” she asks.
“No.” My voice comes out with a gravelly edge. “It sounds like you escaped a future you didn’t want. That’s not selfish. It’s self-preservation.”
“That’s exactly how it feels.” She scans my face like she’s committing it to memory. “You say that like you know how that feels, too.”