“Doing what?” I ask. “Going house to house and telling people how I think they should change the way they decorate their living rooms or organize their kitchens?”
“Maybe, yeah. You should start your own staging and organizing businesses. Realtors would love it.”
She goes back to focusing on whatever is on her iPad while I process her suggestion. I’ve been moving things around Beck’s house in an attempt to annoy him, but all he’s done is compliment where I put things or mention how something looks better in one spot than where he had it.
Coincidence?
Maybe they aren’t wrong. I do enjoy doing these types of things, but could I actually make a business out of it?
“Yeah, I don’t know,” I answer honestly. “Everyone knows that I’m not very good at finding something and sticking to it.”
“Well, maybe that’s because you haven’t found what you truly want.”
Could that be it?
The idea of starting my business both excites me and terrifies me. Willa might see something in me, but it’s been a long time since I’ve been dedicated enough to something to see it through. But maybe, as she said, once I find something that truly matters to me, I’ll commit and stop giving up.
“Speaking of what you truly want,” Willa smiles over her screen, “how’s Operation Get Beck to Divorce Me going?”
I smile but cut it off quickly. “It’s not going. He likes everything I do. It’s annoying. I think he’s doing it on purpose.”
What’s even more annoying is the fact that some nights, when we’re getting along and watching TV, I let myself think for a fleeting moment there could actually be something between us. It’s so dumb, because it was one night in Vegas that started all this, but it was a good night for us. What if every night was like that? What if I could be that happy all the time?
“Can I ask you a question?” Willa pauses to give me a stern look. “It’s a serious one.”
“O-kay.”
“Do you think maybe, just maybe, you like being married to Beck?”
“What?” I squeak out.
“It’s just,” she pauses, “being married is a big thing. It’s huge. If it was wrong, no amount of proving yourself would keep someone married. They’d just get a divorce. So what if, in the back of your mind, you want to be married?”
“To Beck?”
She nods and grins.
I start to object, but her question has triggered something in my brain. Do I like it? Perhaps she—
“Your brother is coming!” Greer says, dashing through the door. “He’s right—”
“Jesus, Greer, I would have walked with you. Are you okay?” my brother says, walking into Willa’s studio. It’s two thirty in the afternoon on a Wednesday. In his mind, I should be working.
Shit. What should I do? Just tell him the truth? If I tell him the truth, he’ll most likely mention it to Beck, who will then know I’ve been sneaking out of the house every single day pretending I have a job. He doesn’t need to know that. I’m too far in to admit I’ve been lying. My brother—eh, I think I’ve moved past the whole his opinion matters most to me phase. He’ll love me either way, but Beck? I don’t want him to think—shit.
My two friends are looking at me like a deer in headlights, probably wondering how I’m going to get out of this one, but my mind has shifted to the realization that Beck’s opinion matters to me.
I don’t want him to see me as a failure, and knowing that I care what he thinks is…
“I have to go,” I blurt out and grab my purse.
“Wait, are you on your lunch hour?” Simon asks.
I pause. “Yep, late, late lunch, but I need to run an errand before it’s over. I’ll see you all later.”
I’m out of the door before anyone can reply, but that doesn’t stop Willa and Greer from texting me within minutes.
Greer: I tried to stall him.
