Page 57 of Married in Michigan
I’d nodded, impressed. “Makes sense.” I lifted the book in my hands. “May I borrow this?”
He’d nodded, but laughed. “Yes, Makayla.”
I’d frowned. “Why the laugh?”
“Because you live here. This is your home, now. Everything here is yours. Want a bottle of wine from the cellar? Take a bottle. No need to ask. Want to take a car? Take it.” He blinked, frowning. “Well, that perhaps should wait till we get you licensed, but you get the idea. It’s not borrowing, it’s using something you have the right to use as a member of this household.”
I’d sighed, tried a smile. “That’s going to take some getting used to, but thank you.”
Thus, I find myself sitting out on the terrace in another little nook—this one featuring surprisingly comfortable wicker furniture, a glass of iced tea sweating nearby.
Three hours after borrowing the book, I’m still barely two chapters in, but enjoying it.
I’m startled, then, when Paxton appears, taking a seat in the other wicker chair. He smiles at me. “Enjoying it?”
I nod. “Yeah, it’s good.”
He eyes my progress, a baffled look crossing his face. “Taking your time, huh?”
I flush, shrug. “Um, no, not really. I’m just a really slow reader.”
“Oh. Sorry, I didn’t mean—”
I wave him off. “It’s okay. I bet you could’ve finished this by now. I’m just…not much of a reader, honestly. I think this is the longest I’ve sat and read in my entire life.”
He frowns. “Really?”
“Yeah.” A shrug. “I’ve worked full time since I turned fourteen. School wasn’t as much of a priority as helping Mom keep a roof over our heads and food on the table. I skipped a lot of school, and I was honestly lucky to even graduate. There’s just never really been time in my life for sitting around reading. I’ve worked two and three jobs, ten to twelve and sometimes sixteen-hour days since I graduated high school, just out of necessity.” I laugh. “Honestly, I feel guilty, just sitting here. I feel like I’m missing work, like I’m flaking out on my responsibilities. It’s hard to focus.”
He nods. “I know this may shock you, but I actually do understand that, to a degree. I’ve never had to work just to keep clothed, housed, and fed, but idle time is a foreign concept to me. My family values one thing: achievement. Success. It’s why I got kicked out of the prep school. Why they sent me to military school. Why even now, what I’ve accomplished isn’t enough. Get elected as one of the youngest members of Congress in American history? Not enough—run for Senate. I’m driven to succeed, compelled to it, because anything less is considered failure.”
“Not the same, but at the same time, I know I can’t imagine that kind of pressure any more than you can understand what it’s like to not always know where your next meal is coming from, or if you’ll be able to pay utilitiesandeat this month.”
He frowns at me. “You’ve really had to choose?”
I laugh. “All the time. Usually, it means you put off a utility bill another month and hope they don’t shut it off,andspend less on food so you can try to catch up.” I tilt my head at him. “So, even though you have a seat in the House, that’s not good enough for your family?”
He nods. “Well, mostly for Mom. Dad would’ve been happiest if I’d been willing to apprentice under him and take over the reins of his company. Unfortunately for him, I’ve never been interested, which I suppose is a large part of the reason for his overall disinterest in me as his son.”
I blink at that. “Disinterest?”
A nod, but no hint of sadness in his voice, although I do detect a tinge of wistfulness or bitterness in the way he glances away from me. “Best word I can find for it. Once I made it clear when I was, oh, thirteen or fourteen, that I had no interest in going to work with him and starting in the mailroom and all that, he just sort of…stopped being interested in me. Stopped caring. I was provided for, I had everything I could ever want—if I asked for a half-million-dollar car for my birthday, I’d get it. Want an apartment in Princeton? I got it. Love and affection and acceptance from my father? Not so much.” A dismissive grin. “Don’t worry, I’ve been to therapy over it. No lingering Daddy issues here.”
I sigh sadly. “Well, at least one of us can say that.”
“You can’t?”
A shake of my head. “Hell no. Mine abandoned us when I was born, and it’s done a number on me in a lot of ways, some of which I probably haven’t ever identified. Therapy ain’t free, and I’ve never had the time for it even if I could afford it.”
We sit in silence for a minute, each of us lost in our own thoughts. Eventually, Paxton sits up straight and smiles. “Well. Enough of the heavy shit. You hungry?”
As if on cue, my stomach growls. “Clearly that’s a yes,” I say.
“In or out?”
“Huh?”
“Eat here, or go out?”