Page 26 of Just Business

“Why didn’t you?” he asks. “Why’d you go to Bama if that wasn’t your dream?”

Suddenly, I feel very raw, and to my great horror, my nose starts to burn, a million tiny knives prickling at my eyes. Looking up at my ceiling, I try to will the tears back in. “My mom was a free spirit. I remember she’d always say, ‘Dream big, Penny girl!’ And that’s what I did. I dreamed as big as a child in a small town could dream. She and I would put on performances for my dad. She’d play the piano and I’d sing. But then she was gone and everything changed. I think somewhere deep down I knew that eventually I’d need to step in and help my dad. I’d been watching Dad at the soundboard for years. Plus, he was the biggest Alabama fan I’ve ever known. I wanted him to be proud of me. But sometimes I think my mom wouldn’t be.”

Austin squeezes my hand. “Nah, I’m sure they’d both be proud of you no matter what.”

He looks at me—I mean, really looks at me for one, two, three heartbeats. It’s as if he knows me as well as he knows the chords of a guitar. And in this moment I realize how desperately I truly want to be known.

“God,” I say, shattering the moment. I pull my hand back and look away. “I just trauma-dumped all over the place. It’s the wine, I swear it’s the wine. It makes me say things without sending them through my mind filter first. I’m sorry.”

When he clears his throat I look up. “Listen, I’ve been at this a while now—living in this fame machine. Nobody knows what’s real and what’s not; it's all fake. All of it.” Austin waves a hand. “Everyone acts like they’re your friend, but really nobody even knows each other. They just pretend they do.” He leans against the back of the swing, taking in a deep breath. “What I’m trying to say here is that you might call it trauma-dumping. I call it real. And real is exactly what I need in my life. If you want to tell me something real, I’m here for it.”

We sit blanketed in a heavy silence, his words hanging in the air with thechirp chirpof cricket song serenading us.

Finally, he breaks the silence, his teasing tone back. “And dating? Did you do much of that?”

I breathe out a chuckle. “You’re determined to poke at bruises tonight, aren’t you?” I sit, thinking over how to explain my dating life. “No, I honestly didn’t date much. My high school boyfriend also went to Alabama and we dated the entire time I was there.” I pause to correct myself. “Well, that’s not exactly true. I stayed to get my MBA. Eric didn’t want to stick around that long. We’d pretty much drifted apart by then anyway and things ended on good terms.”

“Six years is a long time,” he says simply.

“Yep.”

Eric and I outgrew each other slowly, like you outgrow your high school wardrobe. It fits for a while, but gradually, maybe the sleeves get too short or the waistband starts to pinch uncomfortably. And then one day you wake up and realize the shirt you once loved is no longer right for you. That’s how it was with us. We became strangers living under the same roof.

“So, I better get to bed. Big day tomorrow and all!” I infuse my voice with fake cheeriness that barely masks my swirl of emotions. I’ve turned into a big ol’ Debbie Downer tonight, and I know I’m not fooling him, but he plays along with my charade.

“Yep, big day. I think I’ll head up.” Austin stands to head to the apartment, but before he steps off the porch, I call out to him.

“Hey.”

He stops mid-step and turns. “Yeah?”

“Thanks.”

His head tilts. “For what?”

My shoulders lift in a shrug because I can’t quite put into words what I’m thanking him for. Tomorrow, I might regret all that I’ve told him, and maybe it's the wine making me this way, but all I know is there’s something about Austin that makes me feel different—like I’m braver when I’m around him. He’s said he’s here to find himself, but something tells me I just might find some of myself along the way as well.

“Just thanks.”

A smile spreads across his lips. “You’re welcome.”

With that, he turns toward the apartment, and I head inside. After getting ready for bed, I grab my phone to text Josie.

You up?

Josie

oooh, kinky! Is that the kind of friends we are now?

This makes me laugh out loud. I can always count on her for a good laugh.

I think I'm screwed.

Josie

Oh, you definitely are. It’s only a matter of time before you’re screwed in a good way. He looks at you like you’re his favorite ice cream that he wants to gobble up. Looks like you’re into him too.

It's a bad idea.

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