Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 121887 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 609(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 406(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121887 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 609(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 406(@300wpm)
“Harlow,” she answered coldly.
I felt the chill. I again felt that usual shriveling up happening deep inside. I felt the familiar feeling of becoming smaller.
Mostly, I realized how much I hated to feel so damned small.
And then I felt Javi’s attention scorching into me.
My gaze lifted to him.
He was still in his trousers, no shirt, bare feet, disheveled hair, eyes burning gilded fire on my behalf, mug of coffee held in his strong hand, one of his long, attractive fingers hooked through the handle.
And I was in his tee, in his bed, no panties, my shampoo and conditioner in his shower, the moisturizer I’d just used sitting by the sink that had become mine in his bathroom.
I’d won this beautiful man. He was so into me, as beautiful as he was, he hadn’t slept with another woman since he met me months and months ago.
Since he’d met me.
I had friends who were the best friends a girl could have. I had a job that was zero stress. It didn’t allow me to jet off to Aspen for a weekend of skiing, and I had to save for things I wanted if they cost too much. But I didn’t bring my work home with me. It might get physically exhausting, but it was never mentally so.
And that was my choice.
Because I was an adult.
Sure, one day I might want to consider starting my own company where I organized people’s space, because I liked doing that and I was good at it.
Or I might be a server until I died, and who cared?
My life.
My choice.
And I was her daughter.
Truth, even if I, too, became a surgeon, or a researcher who found the cure to cancer, it wouldn’t matter.
Easton was her end all, be all. She treated him better than her own husband.
I was never going to win with her no matter what, and I knew that to the point I’d often wondered, in my darkest times, in the deepest entries I scribbled in my journal, why she’d even birthed me.
“I won’t be at Easton’s dinner,” I said, watching Javi’s face shift to surprise, before it lit with pride.
Yes.
This was hard.
But it was good.
(I thought.)
“Excuse me?” Mom asked.
I turned away from Javi to focus on Mom. “I won’t be joining you and Dad and Easton at Le Amé on Saturday.”
“Can I ask why not?”
“Because you don’t actually want me there.”
At that, I heard Javi set his coffee aside before he claimed me, pulling me in his arms.
That felt better.
“Why on earth would you think we don’t want you there?” Mom demanded.
“I don’t know, Mom, because you treat me like shit?” I asked, deciding cursing in this instance was okay, because it was apropos.
“Please, Harlow,” Mom said dismissively.
“You don’t approve of my job, and I know, because you mention it all the time. You’re disappointed in me because I’m not working to get on the property ladder, and I know you are, because you mention it all the time. I could spend the next three hours listing all the times you made it very clear I was an extreme disappointment to you, and six more hours listing all the times you made it very clear Easton was your favorite.”
She cut in to scoff, “Hardly.”
“Shall we compare Easton’s and my birthday gifts last year?” I asked.
“Your father and I are not going to reward you for making irresponsible decisions in your life, not even on your birthday.”
And there it was.
How she couldn’t see it was beyond me.
“Do you hear yourself?” I asked.
“When you have a child and you want the absolute best for that child, and you work hard to give them every opportunity you can, opportunities the vast majority of other children are not offered, so they can be the absolute best they can be, and they decide to do the very least they can with what you offered, then you may speak to me this way, Harlow Nicole,” she snapped.
“Do I seem unhappy to you?” I retorted.
She said nothing.
“I don’t. Because I’m not,” I stated. “What’s most important in life? That you can brag to your friends that I graduated from Stanford, or you can rest in the knowledge I’m healthy, I’m happy, I have good friends, a job I love, an apartment I dig,”—I looked straight at Javi—“and I landed the man of my dreams?”
His chin jammed back in his neck, and he grunted.
“You’re seeing someone?” Mom asked.
No longer able to withstand staring into the light shining from his eyes, I looked away from Javi and said to Mom, “No, I’ve met the one. And he’s protective of me. So this conversation is partly about the fact I can’t put myself in the position of you harming me emotionally, because he won’t abide it. Mostly, it’s just high time you knew how much you hurt me every time you behave like such a bitch to me.”