Page 9 of So Much More
I add, “I’m so angry I wasted this last year on Colleen instead of getting to know our sisters better.”
“I get that. I get all of it. But Wendy can’t wait forever.”
“What does that mean?”
“She’ll be thirty-one in a couple months.”
I freeze. “She’ll be what, now?” I had no idea Wendy is more than four years older than me.
“I was surprised, too, when Leslie told me, but it’s true. And I know she wants a family.”
This new information complicates matters. Wendy might not want to wait until I get my life figured out—if she wants to wait for me at all. And it wouldn’t be fair of me to ask her to.
“Do you care that she’s older than you?” Ash asks.
“No. I don’t care how old she is.”
“She may also make more money than you do. Do you care about that?”
Do I? “I don’t think so.” I grin at him. “Might be nice to have a sugar mama.”
He picks up the copy ofGQon the coffee table and hurls it at me.
I bat the magazine away as I chuckle. “I’m kidding.”
Brrring!
Ash reaches over and grabs the phone off the end table. “Hello? … She is? … Okay. I’ll tell him. … Love you, too. Bye.” He hangs up. “Leslie and Wendy went to McConnell’s for a drink after work, and they’re both home now if you’re ready to go talk to Wendy. Are you?”
“Not really, but I’m not going to be any more ready later tonight … or tomorrow … or next week, so I might as well get it over with.”
“Be honest with her and listen to her. Those are the two best things you can do.”
“Yes, sir.”
four
I’m pacing the floor in my living room when the phone rings, and I pounce on it.
“Hello?” I say breathlessly.
“Hi. It’s me.”
My pulse goes into overdrive at the sound of Randall’s voice. “Hi. You want to come over?”
“Yes, I’ll be there in five.”
I continue to pace as I think over the conversation I just had with Leslie at the pub. She seems to think he’ll be open to being more than friends, but I’m not so sure. But I’m determined to tell him exactly how I feel and that I want more than what we’ve been doing, although the idea that he might not feel the same has my stomach tied up in knots.
When he buzzes up on the intercom, I press the button to unlock the building’s front door, crack my door open, and perch on the edge of the easy chair across from my couch. My knees bounce up and down as I wait the interminable amount of time it takes Randall to reach my apartment on the eighth floor. I sit on my hands so I won’t chew my fingernails.
He knocks instead of coming on in like usual, and my heart drops. “Come in,” I call out.
Randall enters, and when he spots me in the chair, he stops in his tracks. “What are you doing over there?”
“Um, sitting?”
A look of determination crosses his face. “That’s not where we sit.”
