Page 64 of Peaches

What’s even more, I can’t let myself go there yet.

To happily ever afters and guaranteed forevers. Yet being the key word here, but still.

Not until I tell her about the contract. Not until we, (OK, I), stop all the lies and the bullshit. Because regardless of what I don’t know, Idobelieve that if I’m going to move forward with all of -this- then I have to do it with a clear conscience. And she may feel like I kept her here under false pretenses once she learns that the only way I’m not a fake, the only way I continue to climb the corporate ladder and keep good on my end of the bargain to her - full exposure, top billing, her publishing dream - is to get married before my 30th birthday in one damn month or I forfeit and loose it all.

My entire life’s work is wrapped up in my trust fund.

A trust fund that won’t be mine unless I suck it up, find the girl of my dreams, and put a damn ring on her finger like the stupid piece of paper requires. The damn contract has strings holding my life together like I am some sort of fucking puppet!

Problem is, I already found that girl!

Second problem is, how in the hell do I explain all of that and not sound like the world’s biggest asshole?

You’re the girl for me. Oh yeah, and by the way, I have to get married in less than one month to save my bank account, my business, and what’s always been most important to me, my job that is, until you came along. Will you marry me?

Yeah fucking right!

I’d punch myself in the damn face just for saying it!

That is, unless I don’t tell her at all about the contract.

But then that would be the exact opposite of the definition of trust.

And that’s a heavy weight to carry.

The coward in me suddenly screams loudest because I hate to admit it, but I’ve got really strong fucking shoulders.

Then again, it’s like they say, it’s not the load that breaks you, it’s the way you carry it. And hiding something from her, as much as it would be to my benefit, would kill me quicker than telling her the truth and seeing her walk away.

I glance one more time out the window and see the first raindrops start to fall. There’s no time like the present, I decide. It’s got to be a lot like ripping off a Band-Aid. Better if I do it quick!

Standing, I feel eagerly determined to get it over with for all of maybe three-seconds before thunder sounds and I see a flash of lighting strike outside. A sinking feeling sets in that I won’t have the guts once I come face to face with her. Kinda like what just happened with Grams. Funny how I realize these women run my life while I try to pretend I’m the master of my own damn universe.

That’s the biggest joke of the century!

I take my time walking towards the door. The weight getting heavier and heavier with every calculated stride. I know I’ll feel better if I at least attempt to clear the air between us, and so that’s what I choose to focus on as I step out into a sudden summer downpour, make my way quickly towards the cottage and hope like hell she’s around even if I do get cold feet that have nothing to do with the ones beneath me now jogging in the rain.

I’ll tell her.

One day.

Even if I chicken out tonight.

At least that’s what I keep telling myself as I make my way through the outdoor patio, out onto the gravel and feel my heart start to pound like my feet against the gravel road the closer I get to having to make the decision and come clean.

But, just as anxiety settles in the pit of my stomach again, I remember Grams words, “…one way or another, I was either walking out of there with your grandfather or going to spend the rest of my life wondering…”

Well,one way or another, Grace is going to have to make a decision to stay with me, or leave. That is, after I reach my own sobering resolution.

Do I tell her the truth?

Or continue to hide it?

16

Grace

My legs pullup under me as I squint my face together in disgust. Having hit another writer’s block, I am attempting to do what most all of us authors suggest you do to get you through and nurse your clueless brain back to, let’s face it, still being clueless since I make my stories up as I go along. Apantserthey call me, although I never have understood that term. But at least I’m trying to bring my brain back to functioning, nonetheless.

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