Haze Andrea Wolfe (best mobile ebook reader txt) 📖

frazzled, his blue shirt one that he had worn many times before. It was suitable for the heat of the summer, but not original or surprising. He looked sharply handsome as always, his black hair freshly trimmed short to match the baby-smooth skin of his cheeks. Timothy was one to maintain his appearance, spending far too much time in the mirror for what I always thought was such a negligible improvement.

There were two cups in front of him.

"Effie!" he said excitedly. We hugged in the most platonic way possible and then sat down.

"Hey, Tim. How are ya?"

"I'm great. Learning to get around. I got you an Americano."

"Oh?" I asked. That whole learning to get around bit seemed like somewhat of a red flag, but I did my best to not make any assumptions. "Thanks," I said. I took a sip and then set the cup back down.

"It's such a big place. I'm just not used to it. How is your job?"

"It's fine." I wanted to say more, but I also didn't want to give him the opportunity to get re-attached. It seemed like my omission of further details seemed to rub him the wrong way.

"Listen, Effie," he said. Yep, I was right.

Oh, God. Here it comes.

"Yeah?"

"I want to try again." He looked so enthusiastic, so full of hope. I swallowed a lump in my throat.

"Tim, I don't know if that's—"

"I'm living here now, Effie! I took a job here for you!" His enthusiasm reached a peak; I almost fainted.

Chapter 6

I never believed in happy endings. No, it wasn't a lack of optimism or an excess of negativity that had found a home inside my body. Neither, really. The world seemed too complex for anything to be broken down into such simple terms as happy or sad. Everyone wanted happy and no one wanted sad.

Was there something in between?

Could anyone have a journey that went on for years that was perfect every single morning? Perfect mornings that led into perfect afternoons and then concluded with perfect evenings? Top it off with perfect nights and you've got more perfect than you know what to do with.

Can so much perfect actually be perfect?

Okay, so maybe that meant you needed some blemishes to really appreciate what you had. Imperfections, trials and tribulations. It would bring people closer together, uniting them through their shared challenges. I had not stumbled upon some magical wisdom or anything else—this was life.

People tried to get along.

I agreed with that notion. Did that mean that many people out there weren't actually happy with each other? Yeah, sure. Probably most people I knew fell into that category. My parents were the same way—happy until the real world made very clear what it was and what it was about to do to them. They got along and were close, but I didn't feel like much magic remained, if any.

When I was young, I imagined myself with some magical prince, a man that would provide for me and take care of me while I did stuff around the house for him. Quite the sexist fantasy for a prepubescent gal. I didn't have any ambitions then, no desire to pursue a career or anything else. I was also about seven, so upon reflection, it wasn't such a big deal.

Timothy was the traditionalist in my world. He had been the heavy weight that brought me down, leaving me stranded and confused. Family this, family that. It's gotta be this way because it always has been. The dreaded fallacy of tradition. I ran away from him because he wasn't healthy for me. He needed a woman like my former, emotionally under-developed, seven-year-old self. Notice the use of the word former—that just wasn't me anymore.

"I can't be that for you," I said for the second time. Timothy's fingers wouldn't stop moving, a sign that he was very nervous. I kept trying to ignore it, trying to ignore that telltale sign that things were going to get messy.

"Effie, I came here for you. I gave up the other job, the one that was close to my family. I moved away because I wanted you, not them." His tone was centimeters away from harsh.

"I didn't ask for it." I took a sip of my Americano and slammed the cup down on the table louder than I had intended, most likely sending the wrong signal. Thankfully, the cup didn't break. "It's not my responsibility anymore."

"My family hates me right now. They wanted me there. I left them for you!" His voice raised in volume, but remained a few steps below yelling. No one seemed to have noticed us yet; that was good.

Timothy wanted me to move in with him and allow him to take care of me. He didn't want me to work, just live with him as his woman. Everything he said was so patronizing, even though he was just speaking through the various flavors of his emotions. As difficult as it was, I kept myself under control while he waxed poetic about his idyllic bullshit.

The biggest problem was that he didn't realize how sexist he sounded when he was verbally fleshing out his dreams for me. Sure, his future was supposed to make life comfortable for me. But what if that wasn't what I wanted?

This was ridiculous. I had been set up in this most basic and harmless of social situations—the coffee shop meet. I hadn't agreed to stay the night with him or go out for a fancy dinner. I hadn't even talked to him since we broke up. I had given him an inch and he was doing his very damndest to take miles from me. Jack was going to be in hysterics after I told him how poorly his innocent suggestion had turned out.

No, it wasn't Jack's fault either.

"You can't just move here and expect me to get back with you." My coffee was almost gone and that just served to frustrate me even more. "And don't blame the