Page 12 of Power Move
“No,” I said. “He was sweet, but he tried to tell me he was attracted to me one too many times. The man hadcumgutters. This morning, he was evenmoregorgeous than the night before. He doesn’t end up with me.”
“Sweetie, you’re not ugly.”
“I know. I said. I’m pretty, but I’m not his type. He protested too much. I don’t own a watch that costs more than a decent house. I don’t end up with him. I live with my fucking middle-class parents in podunk Indiana. Meanwhile, he’s probably got some Christian Grey style penthouse.”
“You wrote him off because he told you that you were prettytoomuch? You said he made you squirt the first time he fingered you. Do you know how many times Mike has fingered me to squirting? Never. Zero. You should have locked that shit down.”
“You are locking it down with Mike right now!”
“I know. I love him. He does lots of other things better than my ex, but I miss that sometimes. There is no perfect man. Don’t be the bitch who complains about a rich man wanting to spoil her!”
“I am, I guess. Look, he proved that straight men aren’t hopeless. The sex was good. He wasn’t selfish. Maybe I could consider dating a dude, but notthatdude. Eat the rich.”
“Eat the rich? Girl, Mona was fuckingloaded,and you stayed with her for five years.”
“Mona built her own wealth?—”
“Her parents sent her to one of the best private schools in England. She was privileged and you loved her.”
Still do.
“Fine, she was rich. But not like he is rich. If you saw the suite he got us… damn! I am not even sure it was real. It feels more like a dream.”
“You should text him!”
“I’ve already blocked him.”
“Eva!”
“Don’t go there. It’s over. We’re done. I start my dream job intwo weeks and need to focus. It was nice while it lasted. Who knows if he was evenreallysingle?”
“Eva, I saw no indication he was married. And having a job doesn’t preclude you?—”
“I am starting off in a totally new position well beyond anything I’ve ever done. And after everything with Mona I’m in my Me, Me, Me Era. Now, did you have a good party?”
“It wasthe best. Thank you for putting up with all of it. Jace and you were rockstars, as was the mystery man. It was lovely. Callie is… a wreck… but you took care of her, so I appreciate it.”
“I am not on duty at the wedding,” I warned. “I plan to get blitzed and not be the babysitter.”
“Her boyfriend will be there to deal with her. Promise.”
We soon arrived at our nearest stop—Hammond. Ellie departed with her fiancé, Mike, and her daughter, Jane. Ellie and her ex, Clay, co-parented admirably. Their marriage ended over alegendarycheating scandal. I hated Clay for stepping out when his kid was an infant, but Mike and Clay got along for Jane’s sake. Jane ran to hug me and talked my ear off. Jane and Ellie were the best part of my transatlantic return. I missed being in their lives so often. I chatted for a bit with her and climbed into my old truck.
My parents lived between Hammond and Dyer in a little town called Krakow. Founded by Poles, the place’s one street lacked so much as a four-way stop. My parents owned a hobby farm just outside town. Before I reached it, I passed dozens of McMansions. In the last ten years since I left for college in the UK, Chicagoans moved here for cheaper taxes and “better” schools—better being coded language for “whiter”. The land where they’d planted these terrible architectural monstrosities previously belonged to my grandfather.
I pulled in the drive, feeling a little queasy from the meds and reticent to say more.
My mom and sister sat in the kitchen drinking iced tea as I carted my overnight bag in and threw my clothes down thelaundry chute. The benefits of a hundred-year-old farmhouse were immense.
“How was it?” Mom asked.
“It was good,” I said. “So much screaming and ridiculous behavior, but Jace and I survived.”
Brooke, my suddenly religious sister, rolled her eyes and patted her growing baby bump. Brooke, like Ellie, was divorced. She remarried a few years ago. Her husband—a manchild named Ian—was the builder of many of the new McMansions in the area. His family—like ours—was Catholic, but much more “devout”. That was a nice way of saying they were judgmental fundamentalist Catholics who thought the pope was illegitimate because he was down with AIDS prevention. I hated people like them. My sister hadn’t always been this way, but now she even abhorred Jace, who spent years here as a surrogate younger sibling. Mom and Dad didn’t agree but stayed out of it. Nonbinary Jace was always welcome, but my parents avoided hosting both at the same time.
“Well, as long as you got home safe and Ellie had fun.” Mom smiled. “That’s all that matters.”
“Agreed,” I said. “I’m gonna go out and ride Poco. Is Dad in the barn?”
