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“Don’t you think it’s wrong to date someone just because they have money?” I turned off the water, snaking one arm out of the curtain to grab a towel off the rack. Max was very comfortable with her body, whereas I felt that my naked body should be seen by myself, medical professionals, and God. And on one particularly unfortunate incident, the piglets. A boyfriend would have been on the list, but I was confident that, at the rate I was going, my only boyfriends would likely reside in a drawer.
“That’s the patriarchy in you talking, babe.” Max tossed my hair-drying wrap over the rod. “Men do shit like that all the time. An older man dating a younger woman because she’s young and gorgeous and a status symbol. Why can’t I do the same?”
“That’s not what I meant.” I pushed back the curtain, stepping over the edge of the shower. “Don’t you want to be in a relationship based on love, or at least like? A partnership?”
“I like him, and Ilovehis money.” I rolled my eyes at her in the mirror, and she continued, “Your problem is that your parents set a bad example for you. They have a fairy-tale marriage, and that’s not a healthy or realistic expectation. Like, maybe one percent of the entire population gets that. Look at my parents. My mom has been madly in love with at least a hundred men, and my dad has been in mild tolerance with two women — my mother and his secretary. And there was overlap.”
I paused rubbing in my moisturizer to look at her. “Max, that is both an incredibly sad and incredibly cynical outlook.” She shrugged casually. “I would rather be alone than settle, and you’re way too amazing to settle.”
“Well, I’m not going to argue with you on how amazing I am.”
“And don’t forget your stunning humility.” I turned back to the mirror, throwing my hair up in the messiest of messy buns, and added a few swipes of mascara.
“You know Sissy isn’t in love with Macon, right?” Max stated bluntly, following me out of the bathroom and into the bedroom. “She’s in it for the money and status Macon will give her.”
“I know,” I replied, grabbing a pair of cleanish leggings off the floor and pulling underwear and a bra out of the dresser. “I’d like to think that some part of that cold, unused muscle in her chest cares for him in her own way, though. Like when people used to do the whole human sacrifice thing and the human sacrifice was treated really well up until they were thrown into the volcano or whatever.”
“Your sister seems like the kind of person who would really enjoy a good human sacrifice.”
I laughed, walking into my closet and shutting the door for privacy. It was just big enough to fit into, so I had to contort my body to get my leggings up and t-shirt on. Mid-yank, I gave voice to the question that had been plaguing me since I’d found out about their engagement. For whatever reason, it was easier to get the words out from the safety of my closet.
“Do you think he knows? That Sissy is using him?”
“Macon has major Golden Retriever energy, so I doubt it.” I stepped out of the closet to find Max stretched out on my bed, flipping through one of the books from my nightstand. She set the book down and sat up when she heard the door shut. “Does it matter, though? If he’s happy with her, I don’t know if her motivations really matter.”
I wanted to argue with her — to tell her that itdidmatter. I wanted to say that everyone deserved to have their love reciprocated, but the words kept getting stuck in my throat. So I hummed thoughtfully instead. I couldn’t help but think that there was some truth to her statement, and that bothered me. The whole conversation left me feeling sad and hollow.
Needing a distraction, I made my way to the kitchen, going straight for my clutch on the table where I had discarded it last night without a second thought. My phone was lying next to it, and I picked it up, almost dreading what I would find. Sure enough, I had sixty emails and messages in my work inbox and our intraoffice message system. Deciding to skip those for now — there would be plenty of time when I opened my personal messages — I scrolled past the multiple texts from Sissy to Holden’s name.
Me: What are the odds that you didn’t put me to bed last night?
I was surprised when his response came almost immediately.
Holden: About as good as you remembering the last episode of Prison Wife.
I tried to think back to the previous night, but I couldn’t remember much after the opening credits.
Me: Ugh. I don’t know whether to say thank you for putting me to bed or I’m sorry that you had to put me to bed.
Holden: You don’t have to say thank you or sorry. You introduced me to tacos from a truck and Prison Wife.
Holden: Besides, you only fought me a little when I tried to wake you up.
I groaned, banging my head on the table. I definitely would have fought him if he’d tried to wake me up, and there was also a very real possibility that I’d drooled on his expensive tux. What a charmer I was!
Sutton: Wow, I really have introduced you to all the finer things in life. Stick with me and you’ll be buying wine out of the discount bin soon.
Holden: Sutton, I can promise you that no matter how much time we spend together, there is absolutely no danger of me buying wine from the discount bin.
Sutton: We’ll see. I bet you never thought you’d spend your Saturday night watching bad reality TV and eating tacos either.
“What am I witnessing here?” My gaze darted up from the phone screen at Max’s voice to find her standing right next to me, purse slung over one shoulder. I was so absorbed in the text exchange with Holden that I had forgotten she was even here. “You have this weird smile thing happening, and I asked you twice if you’re ready to go and nada.”
I debated trying to lie to Max, but she knew me too well for me to get away with it.
“I was just thanking Holden again for taking me home last night.” It was almost the entire truth, and as close to it as I was comfortable with. I needed a minute — preferably after the coffee and ibuprofen kicked in — to think over the swirl of increasingly confusing feelings I had for Holden before I talked to Maxine about them. I don’t even know if I could name them all if I tried.
“Uh-huh. You’re lucky we need to get going, but don’t think we’re not going to discuss your feelings about one Holden St. James.”
