Page 30 of Pick Me
“Except for the cows.”
“Well, yes,” he allowed. “But even the cows add a little adrenaline boost to the day. You can’t get bored with them around.”
“Goodman, just so you know, I get paid alotof money to do the same shit every day. The boring bits are what pay the bills.”
“I know! And I know I’m really privileged, because most people don’t get to hold out for a perfect career and arefinewith doing a job that’s boring if it means they have money to take care of their families, or travel, or fill their houses with cat figurines, or whatever their passion is.” He frowned and twisted in his seat to face me, his eyes earnest and his dark hair flopping over his forehead. His shorts hiked up his thigh, showing a lighter band above his tan line dusted with coarse, dark hair, and I had to grip the steering wheel against the urge totouch. “Whatdoyou spend money on? What do you do for fun?”
Had I actually been thinking before that it would beniceto be the object of Goodman’s total attention? Because it wasn’t. It felt like standing naked in a field.
I cleared my throat. “I, ah, have a condo in the city. It’s a great investment. And I support local charities.” Mostly monetary donations for the tax write-offs, it was true. “I read.” Business and productivity books. “Part of the problem with being good at things is that it’s hard to take vacation time, so I don’t have hobbies per se.”
Goodman frowned and nodded once again. He was so obviously trying not to pity me that I felt his pity sinking into my skin like Hawk’s glitter.
“I invest in small businesses, too,” I told him. “That’s fun for me. And I put money aside to help my younger siblings pay for school and to pay the orchard’s debts. And…” I broke off and shook my head. Was I really trying to impress this guy with how exciting my life was when it definitely wasn’t? “Whatever. Iamboring. I do my boring job because I’m a boring person. I accept this.”
“Helping small businesses is not boring,” Goodman said with surprising vehemence. When I glanced over, his cheeks were flushed. “And neither is helping your family. When I was growing up, my folks had no money. A lot of the time, it was a fight to stay optimistic, even before my mom died a few years ago. My oldest brother, Rafe, helped me as much as he could with the college expenses that scholarships didn’t pay for, and as much of a pain in the ass as he can be, I’m grateful to him every single day because I wouldn’t be where I am without him. He gave me choices when I didn’t think I had any. So. Yeah. Not boring.” He cleared his throat. “Really good. Maybe the best investment.”
Something about him saying that, about the thread of real, honest emotion in his voice as he said it had been afightto stay optimistic, got to me, and I found myself talking more, spewing stuff I would ordinarily never dream of saying.
Goodman and I were like strangers on a bus, in a way, headed in the same direction only for this one tiny fragment of our life journeys. And his brown eyes were frank and compassionate, making him shockingly easy to talk to.
“I feel bad sometimes that I haven’t been around more.” I bit my lip.Shit. Where had that even come from?
“Yeah?”
I shrugged. “I get back here a couple times a year, but only for a few days at a time. Reed’s worse. I don’t think he’s been back more than a couple times this decade. Webb was the one of us older kids who wanted the orchard—the land, the trees, the legacy. He went to Hannabury College, the same place Porter is now, but he came right back here when he was done. He kept our family together, and he improved the hell out of the place, too,” I said proudly.
“What happened with your parents?”
“My dad died eight years ago now, but he’d kinda checked out a few years before that. My mom died when I was nine. Freak aneurism. Dad was devastated. Swore he’d be alone forever. But then the summer before my junior year of high school, he met Cara at the State Fair. She was twenty-two—only six years older than me—and he was forty-five.”
“Okay.”
“So, she ended up getting pregnant with Porter and moved here, and they got married. Popped out a couple more kids. Dad was thrilled, I think, since he thought he’d save himself the pain of losing another spouse, but life in a town like Little Pippin Hollow is an acquired taste, and she was too young to know what she was signing up for. She bailed when Em was three.”
“Damn. That’s awful.”
“Yeah, kinda. I mean, yes, it sucks. But she deserved to have a chance to be happy, right? And unlike Webb’s wife, Cara stayed in touch with all of her kids, she just didn’t want to live in Vermont anymore.”
Goodman was quiet for a long moment. So long I felt like an idiot for oversharing.
“Anyway—” I began.
But then he said hesitantly, “My dad is obsessed with treasure hunting. When I was a kid, he couldn’t keep two dollars in his wallet without investing it in some salvage operation that never panned out. My brother used to say that at least if he’d bought magic beans, we could have eaten them. Sometimes my mom would cry. My oldest brother still hasn’t totally forgiven him.”
“And you?” I asked gently.
For a minute, there was no sound but the low hum of tires on asphalt.
“No, I don’t blame him,” he said, like it was a thought he’d been holding for a long time without releasing. “I think we’re all just trying to hedge our bets on happiness. Sometimes you just really misunderstand what’s gonna get you there.”
“Because the answer is triangles,” I said lightly, cutting through the tension.
He looked at me sideways, his eyes warm on mine. “Yes.Now you get me.”
“Now I get you,” I agreed softly.
And I did. Sort of. The night before, Goodman had said that we had more in common than I thought, and he was more right than I’d believed possible.
