Page 43 of The Write Stuff

TWELVE

Meeting Huxley for coffee was a bad idea. I knew it, and yet I decided to go anyway. What was worse was that I took the time to do my hair and makeup. I even dressed up in pretty fluttery capris and a sleeveless shirt that made me look as if I had more cleavage than I actually did.

Normally, I would have settled down to get my words done in capri joggers and tennis shoes. My hair would have been thrown back in a messy knot, and my makeup would have been completely ignored.

I tried not to think about my appearance too much. Huxley had made it clear that he thought of me as a geek and nothing more. Still, I went over and above my normal standard, to the point where Lucy — who was just getting in — commented.

“You look nice,” she said as she pulled a bottle of water from the fridge. She didn’t look all that steady on her feet.

I didn’t know what got to me in the moment — perhaps it was what Huxley had said the previous evening — but something inside of me snapped.

“You need to get a job,” I said. My tone wasn’t mean but firm. “You need to get a job and start contributing. You’re not getting another dime from me, and you have exactly two weeks to find gainful employment, or you’re out.”

I didn’t meet her gaze as I started for the door.

“What the hell?” she barked at my back. “You’re not my mother.”

“No, but I am your landlord.” Normally, I would have backed down right away. I didn’t like confrontation. I was a people pleaser at heart. “Calling Mom for money doesn’t count either, and I will check. It’s time you became an adult, Lucy.”

I couldn’t believe I said it, but I felt immediately better once I had.

“I am trying to find a job,” she shot back. “I sent two résumés out to ranches last week.”

I turned back to study her. “That’s not trying to get a job,” I said. “That’s not even doing the bare minimum. Also, your future is not going to be on a ranch. You don’t even like animals.”

She balked. “I like animals … from a distance.”

“You don’t like cleaning up after them.”

“Well, nobody likes that.”

“On a ranch, that’s mostly what you do.” My backbone was remaining surprisingly firm. “I love you, Lucy. I can’t be your reason not to move forward with life, though. You’re old enough that you should be putting this partying mentality behind you.”

“You’re only saying that because you never had fun when you were my age.” Lucy went on the attack in an instant. “You were always so serious, so determined to make Mom proud. There’s more to life than constantly working.”

“I agree that there should be a work-life balance,” I replied. “You, however, don’t believe the work should actually play into your life. It’s time to get it together.”

Lucy narrowed her eyes. “You’re not going to kick me out. We both know it.”

“I am.” My stomach constricted when I said it because I didn’t know if I was telling the truth. Was I strong enough to kick her out? It was a toss-up at present. She didn’t need to know that, though. “I’m not doing this to be mean, no matter what you think.”

Lucy’s lower lip appeared and began to tremble.

I steeled myself to remain strong. “I’m doing this because if you don’t make an effort to gain control of your life now, you never will.”

“Maybe I don’t want to be you, Wylie,” she fired back. “Did you ever consider that? Nobody wants to be you.” She looked as if she wanted to take the words back as soon as they left her mouth. She didn’t, though.

“You don’t need to be me,” I replied, grateful that my voice didn’t crack as I pulled open the door. “You just need to not be this any longer.” I gestured toward her club outfit, which included shorts that showed off the bottoms of her butt cheeks and a corset that was one shimmy away from a nip slip. “Do we understand each other?”

She didn’t say anything. She just stared.

“Two weeks,” I said as I walked through the door. “Then you’re on your own.”

I WAS STILL SHAKY FROM MY fight with Lucy when I arrived at the coffee shop. Huxley was already at a table, his tablet in front of him, and he grinned when he saw me. The smile didn’t last, though. He was on his feet in a second.

“What’s wrong?” He rushed to me.

How could he possibly know that something was wrong? I was holding it together relatively well. Wasn’t I?