‘Older. By five years. He turned forty last month and his wife was plenty mad that I didn’t come back for the party.’
‘You didn’t fancy a family shindig?’
He stretched out onto his back, hands cradling his head, and crossed one leg over the other, his foot furiously tapping at the air.
‘There was too much work to do on the house to fly back east for one party.’
It was an excuse. Maybe not an outright lie but not the whole truth either. I could tell from the way his forehead crumpled, like there was a heavy weight pushing it down from the crown of his head.
‘My mom and dad are pretty intense about work,’ he added when I didn’t respond right away. ‘They’re both second generation, only children of immigrants. Making money is the only measure of success as far as they’re concerned. I get it, their parents came with nothing, had to kill themselves for every penny and they want to make them proud, honour their memory. Every generation wants to see the next one do better than they did.’
‘Doing better doesn’t always mean making more money,’ I said, even though everyone I knew considered super successful Suzanne to be doing a lot better than I was and I was fully aware of the fact.
‘Try telling that to my dad.’
He stilled his tapping foot and gave a long, heavy sigh.
‘My brother got into real estate when he was still in college and made a mint. He’s a natural, you know? So I tried it out but selling houses wasn’t for me. I fell in love with the homes themselves instead of the commission. Every time I had to show a developer around a place, knowing they were going to tear it down, I felt sick inside. A house is a living thing, you can feel all the lives that have been lived inside those four walls, every story. I couldn’t get past it so I started renovating the houses instead. I’d worked for my grandpa every summer since I was fourteen and for a year after high school, I had a pretty good idea of what I was doing, but it didn’t bring in enough money for my brother. No matter what I did, the offers from the developer were always higher than the offers from regular buyers. So Hector is the favourite, bringing in high six figures every year, and I’m the black sheep who doesn’t have a college degree and manages to get by.’
‘Not to be rude but surely there is money to be made in renovating houses?’ I asked. I was no fool, I’d seen an awful lot ofHomes Under the Hammer. ‘Surely it’s a pretty well-paid profession as long as you’re not shit.’
‘I’m proud to say I’m not shit,’ Ren replied, almost smiling. ‘But I take too long and I spend too much. The good money is in flipping a place, not restoring it. What I make doesn’t even come close to Hector’s income or what they make. Mom and Dad don’t get why I wantto work harder to make less money. Loving your job doesn’t come into it.’
‘Well, I think renovating houses is very cool,’ I declared. ‘And it’s amazing that you’re restoring your grandfather’s house.’
The almost smile graduated to a full-fledged grin but he didn’t say anything, and if I’d learned nothing else from my previous relationship, it was when to leave someone or something alone. No good ever came from pushing. Instead I watched the wispy white clouds above us reflected in Ren’s dark green eyes then lay down on one side, taking in my surroundings, the lush grass, the palm trees that lined the pathways, the laughter coming from the group of friends behind me. It really was a lovely place even though it felt strange to say that about a graveyard, albeit a very fancy one.
‘Whatever you’re thinking about must be incredibly intense,’ Ren said, breaking my train of thought. ‘Care to share?’
‘Burying people length-wise,’ I replied. ‘Why do we do it? It makes no sense.’
The laughter that escaped his mouth was loud enough to wake the dead.
‘I’m serious!’ I said, slapping him on the arm. ‘Why don’t we bury people standing up? It would take up less space, wouldn’t it? People just can’t be arsed to dig a deeper hole.’
‘How would you keep them standing up though?’ he asked. ‘You know, don’t answer that, I’m afraid of what you might say.’
‘Where there’s a will there’s a way,’ I said. Somewhere in the last ten minutes I’d forgotten to try to relax andactually relaxed. It had been so long, I’d almost forgotten how good it felt not to be on edge. ‘What about you?’ I tossed a grape at his face, missing his mouth by a mile. ‘What were you thinking about?’
He picked up my fallen grape, squeezed it gently between his thumb and forefinger then placed it on his tongue and I suddenly found myself in the unexpected and unusual position of being jealous of fruit.
‘Do you think Bel would want to meet me tomorrow night?’
I tore into the bag of chocolate chip cookies and stuffed one into my mouth, whole. So much for relaxation.
‘I don’t know,’ I replied, hand held over my very full mouth. ‘Probably.’
‘That’s what I was thinking about.’ He helped himself to a cookie from the bag, breaking it in half before taking a bite. ‘I want to do something special. Any ideas?’
‘Hire Adele to sing for her?’
‘A little out of my budget.’
‘Ariana Grande?’
‘Is she cheaper than Adele?’
‘Probably not,’ I admitted and even though I’d asked, even thoughI was the mastermind behind this whole thing, I was oddly irritated to be talking about it. ‘What if you write a message in the sky with one of those little planes?’
