“Letting her use his guest house isn’t the same as letting her back in.”
“It’s close enough.” He stabs a fork into his salad. “Too close for comfort.”
“I don’t know. Your dad’s one of the most welcoming people I’ve ever known. Maybe he feels bad for her. Doesn’t want to treat her the same way she treated him…” I’ve only met Hunter’s mom once, briefly, and she made an unsolicited comment about my natural hair that put me off from having any further conversations with her.
“Bullshit.” Hunter shakes his head and reaches for his glass, downing half the ice water inside. I don’t ever see him riled up like this unless he’s talking about Charlotte St. Clair-Johansson. “There goes Thanksgiving. And Christmas.AndNew Year’s.” The gruff tinge in his voice as he sets down his glass can fool most people. His lip twitching under flared nostrils really sells the rage he’s projecting, but I’ve known him long enough to recognize the hurt in his eyes. He’s never told me the specifics surrounding his parents’ divorce, but I know it wasn’t a good time for him.
“You could come to Bender for Thanksgiving. Chase and Kayla will already be there. We could probably convince them to get some wedding stuff out of the way.” I bite into my turkey wrap while he mulls over my suggestion.
Brows knitted together, his tongue juts into his lower lip. “You”—he finally says with a smile—“are a genius.”
This isn’t one of his signature smirks he lays on unsuspecting women at the coffee shop. It’s his honest to God, walls-have-fallen-down smile that makes his entire face light up. The smallest flitter dances inside my belly when I realize I made him smile that way. I shove the feeling away as soon as I sense it, but it was definitely there. Which is a problem because Hunter and I will never be more than the best of friends.
“Anyway, how’s your grad school application coming along? Isn’t the deadline soon?”
“Check, please.” Pretending to look for the waiter, I crane my neck behind me. Hunter laughs again, and that damn flitter threatens to turn into a full flutter. I clear my throat, a feeble attempt to rid myself of the tingles pooling between my legs.What the hell is happening right now?This is Hunter. “The deadline is in December, but I haven’t started the application yet.”
“Why not?”
I roll the corner of my napkin nervously.Do I tell him the truth? “I’ve been busy with work…” I say, but just as soon as I start, his eyes narrow like he knows I’m full of shit. “Okay, fine. All the requirements are a little overwhelming. Whenever I open up my laptop to get started, I panic.”
“Panic? About what?” He watches me intensely. He’s probably the only person who wouldn’t judge me if I told him the truth about this—about the family pressure.
My parents’ legacy is teaching, as was their parents before them, and the ones before them. When my sister took her own path, they doubled down on “helping” me choose a teaching career for myself. By helping, I mean taking it upon themselves to insert their will at every chance they could, making it nearly impossible for me to deviate from their plan without severely disappointing them.
I tried it their way. I really did. Buttheirpressure mixed with teaching pressure drove me so close to the edge, it was scary. I overworked myself until I had a nervous breakdown, and my confidence took a hit that extended to all facets of my life. I still haven’t fully recovered.
Hunter’s the one who helped me come up with an exit plan a year ago. The whole reason we have these lunches is because he discovered I wasn’t eating well. I don’t know what I would have done without him. My therapist, Fit4U, and Hunter literally saved me.
“Ash?” He leans forward in his chair, eyes boring into mine. “Do you want to go to grad school?”
“That’s the plan…” My eyes drop as I fidget in my chair. I tuck my thumbnail between my front teeth and nibble furiously.
“That’s not what I asked. Do you want to go?”
I shrug, keeping my eyes trained over his shoulder when I look up. Saying no, out loud, feels dangerous. Voicing it will mean I’m willfully going against the legacy my family has built. Who knows what the butterfly effect will be if I admit I don’t want to do what I’ve spent a lifetime working toward? And the disappointment my parents will feel over me throwing it all away?No thanks.
“Ashlie, look at me.” His voice is soft, and the stark change makes my eyes go back to his. “Forget about everyone else and what they want you to do. Is this something you want?”
“I…don’t think so.”
“Then don’t. Screw anyone who gets mad about it. You only have one life, and you deserve to enjoy the way you’re living it.”
A tear slips down my cheek, and then another, until my vision is completely blurred by the salty river.I need to calm down. People are dying all over the world, and I’m crying over higher education.
I blindly reach for my napkin, moving my hands around the plate in front of me, when I feel the rough cotton swipe against my cheek. Hunter peers up at me, crouching next to my chair as he dabs my face with the cloth. He turns my seat so I’m facing him and props his hands on my knees.
“Ugh.” I blow out the emotion clogging my throat. “I don’t want to disappoint anyone. I just feel so lost.” I slide a finger under my eye to wipe away the smudged mascara.
“Why do they get a say?”
“Becausetheyare my family…”
“You’re a twenty-six-year-old woman who supports herself. Why do they get a say?”
I shake my head with a shrug. Hunter’s thumbs move back and forth across my thighs as he tries to comfort me, wholly unaware that his touch is sending electric currents through my body. Each tender swipe is more searing than the last. He doesn’t move until my breathing slows, and when it does, he smiles and slowly trails a thumb across my cheekbone. That damn flitter betrays me, and my stomach flutters wildly.
“Eyelash,” he explains, holding it up for me to see. “Make a wish.”
