Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 121054 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 605(@200wpm)___ 484(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121054 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 605(@200wpm)___ 484(@250wpm)___ 404(@300wpm)
“You’re not sponging. And, even if you were, it’s not like I can’t afford you. I’m paying you back for college and all my magazine subscriptions in high school,” I pointed out.
“Well, I don’t care. Let me live here rent-free, and maybe in a couple of decades, you’ll have dug me out of the hole your tuition made.” She motioned to the door. “Are you staying or going? Because I’m going to bed.”
She wasn’t. Years of weird hours at the hospital meant that Mom didn’t really sleep much. She was just giving me an out to run back to Neil.
I got my shoes on and headed back to the main house, after I promised Mom that I would look out for crazies. Even with full-time on-site security, she didn’t trust that we weren’t going to get murdered because “we live too close to New York”.
Mom drove me absolutely batshit sometimes. Most of the time. But I’d forgotten what it was like to need her. I’d missed eight years of momly advice because I’d been so insistent on independence.
I slipped back into the house and found Neil still snoring away in bed. I had to laugh; I hadn’t heard him sleep this hard since he’d stopped drinking.
I stripped down and curved my body around his back. Emma always talked about how important it was for a baby to have skin-to-skin contact. Beyond various medical benefits, it apparently soothed them and made them feel more loved. I wondered if it could work on fractured adults.
I held Neil and stroked his hair and willed him to feel every bit of the limitless love I had for him. I’d once thought we were so connected that his hurts were mine. Now, I knew that wasn’t so. I couldn’t try to heal for him anymore. I had to trust that he was fully capable of doing it on his own.
I nuzzled his shoulder and inhaled against his neck. This man, this exciting, impossible man, was a part of my heart, and he’d taken me as a part of his. Though we couldn’t do everything, be everything for each other, we damn sure wouldn’t be alone.
EPILOGUE
By the end of August, I was back in my life groove. The magazine was doing better than ever; Deja and I were seriously considering an offer from a major media corporation who wanted to buy it. I’d made an effort to reduce my number of hours in the city by hiring a few staff members locally, effectively opening a second office right out of our house, so I could telecommute as much as possible. In fact, we worked out of the expansive room that had, at one time, been our bar. Neil didn’t need it anymore, and the service entrance at the end of the hallway made it an ideal location. The remodel had taken longer than I would have liked, so our contributions to the October issue had been crafted mostly around the kitchen table.
Neil had surprised me by complaining about the arrangement, at first. It had only taken him a few weeks before he’d become a near constant figure in the home office, leaning over my shoulder and making suggestions until I would politely tell him to fuck off. He liked having me at home, but it was clear that he was itching to work.
“Why don’t you try to funnel some of this control freak energy into something more positive?” I suggested during my lunch break one day. I leaned over to take the bite of broccoli he offered me on the end of his fork. I made a disappointed mewl as I chewed. “You’re right. It does get better overnight. I shouldn’t have let you take that.”
He looked at the leftovers I’d claimed, tortellini from our dinner out the night before, and sighed. “I suppose if I suggested a trade…”
“Oh, no. You have the broccoli. I can’t possibly let you give it to me,” I demurred as I took the bowl from him and slid my plate across the table. I should have known better. In a contest between restaurant food and home-cooked Neil food, Neil food always won.
“So,” he said, picking up his fork and digging it into the tortellini. “You want me to find something to keep me out of your hair while you work? Because there is the new Lambo I’ve been eyeing—”
“No. I want you to find something that will take the edge off your anxiety. There has to be some kind of project you can get involved with.” I gestured with my fork. “Like, one of the fifty charities you’ve got other people running.”
“Three, Sophie. But you’re right. Sitting back and making one or two decisions a year was acceptable while I was working, but now, I do have more time to devote to worthwhile causes, rather than just throwing money at them.” He considered, and I saw the wheels turning in his head.