Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 65192 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 326(@200wpm)___ 261(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65192 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 326(@200wpm)___ 261(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
She nods. “That’s nice. I was thinking about rich people while I was doing laundry in the basement of doom and spiders this morning. If I had a six-figure salary, the first thing I would do is find a way to install a washer and dryer in my apartment. That would make me feel much freer.”
I hum beneath my breath. “Moving might be easier. Hard to get permission for stuff like that in an old building.” I hesitate, but can’t help adding, “All the company apartments in London have a washer-dryer combo installed in the kitchen. They tend to be a lot smaller than American machines, but they work just fine.”
“I’m considering it,” she says, sending a jolt of hope zipping across my skin. It will be a hell of a lot easier to convince Jess we’re perfect for each other if she’s living in the same country. “But I don’t want to get ahead of myself. I’ll take the meeting first, see how I feel, and go from there.” She sighs. “Though I don’t relish the thought of telling my mother I’m moving to London. Her head will probably explode. But if I tell her I’m unemployed and let her marinate in the associated parental panic for a week or so before I tell her about the other job offer, she might be more open-minded about the whole thing.”
“And she could always come visit,” I say, pausing beside the entrance to the subway. “So, you aren’t going to let me order a car?”
She shakes her head, turning to grin over her shoulder at me as she starts down the stairs. “Nope. You’re going to have to ride the icky, squicky subway like the rest of us cretins. It’ll be good for you. Put some hair on your chest.”
“I already have plenty of hair on my chest,” I say as I follow her into the stale, warm, body-odor-and-old-urine-scented air. “And I’ve gotten used to British subway stations. They’re so much cleaner. You wouldn’t believe it.”
“Yes, I would. New Yorkers are great, but totally gross.” She swipes her card through the reader and steps through before passing it back to me. “And things have gotten even worse than they were when we were kids. I can’t remember the last time I rode the subway without encountering someone passed out in their own vomit or some freak clipping their toenails or eating a sandwich.”
I swipe my way through and hand the card back to her as we start toward the Brooklyn-bound train. “What kind of monster eats on the subway?”
She shudders. “A monstrous kind of monster, that’s who. Why would you want to eat in a place covered in stranger toenails and vomit germs? It’s a nightmare rife with salmonella and hepatitis C.” She huffs and adds with a laugh, “That reminds me. I had a dream about a giant strawberry last night. We were hiking and found one in the woods. You wanted to skin it like an animal pelt so we wouldn’t have to eat all the gross white part in the center, and I wanted to dig a hole through the middle and turn it into a cozy little cottage.”
“I like your idea,” I say. “Cottage all the way.” I slide my hands into the pockets of my linen pants as we stop to wait beside the tracks, adding in a softer voice, “And I like that you dreamed about me.”
“I also dreamed about giant fruit and being trapped in my mother’s knitting basket while her ferret tried to murder me, so don’t make too much of it, buddy.”
“Kiki’s still alive?”
“No, Kiki passed over the rainbow bridge a few years ago. Her new ferret is named Isabelle. She’s a literal demon who hates everyone but Mom and lurks in wait outside my room whenever I’m visiting so she can attack me when I emerge to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night. She rarely draws blood, but it’s still terrifying.”
“Sounds like it.” I glance down the track, but there’s still no sign of the train. “And it sounds like you’re dreading seeing your parents tomorrow.”
She makes a gargling sound low in her throat. “So much. I know I made the right choice leaving Brain Chill, but I also know they’re still going to be disappointed. Chos don’t quit. My dad is still a member of every community club he joined in high school and Mom has the same candle customers she’s been selling to since the nineties. I’m pretty sure they all have enough candles to last them through five apocalypses, but they keep buying because Mom refuses to quit selling. She’s going to be so disappointed. And worried. And stressed.” The rumble of an approaching train fills the air, making it harder to hear Jess as she races on, “And that’s going to make me even more worried and stressed and we’ll probably end up yelling at each other in Korean. Then, she’ll pick on me about how bad my accent is and how I should have tried harder at Korean language bible school when I was a kid, and by the time we’re done, I’ll be convinced my entire life is one big mistake.”