Haze by Andrea Wolfe (korean novels in english .TXT) 📗

The sunlight spilling in through the windows was absolutely gorgeous, painting the carpet with beams of golden light. It really was a new day; this was one signal that I couldn't misinterpret. I felt both refreshed and fresh, as if I were somehow both well rested and somewhat of a new person altogether.

Finding myself next to Jack's most comfortable chair in the world, I succumbed to temptation and sat in it.

"Holy shit," I said aloud. This was undoubtedly a chair made for sitting in. I turned on my side and still found it just as comfortable as I had sitting upright. Whatever he paid for the damn thing seemed totally justified in that moment.

I sat and thought in absolute comfort, totally at ease with the fact that Jack was still sleeping and not sitting beside me. We both had been through a rough day, but his was certainly a little different from my own. It's not that I didn't think guys could be emotional, because hell, Jack was walking, talking emotion. There was also the whole Timothy thing yesterday, which was unmistakably emotional as well.

So thanks to the last twenty-four hours, I was growing quite intimate with the brand new emotional man phenomenon.

My eyes traced along Jack's walls as I sat blissfully in that beautiful chair. His gold and platinum records weren't even hanging straight on the wall. The crooked angles started to bother me, but I managed to disarm my feelings of OCD, at least for that moment.

There was a light covering of dust on them; the gleaming sunlight brought the particles to the forefront. These poorly maintained relics were of huge significance, at least in my mind. I had no idea what it felt like to sell a half-million or a million-plus records. To me, it felt like the sort of accomplishment that you could die happily after reaching.

But what business did I have trying to say how he should feel about anything? It was his own emotion that made him talented, made him a force to be reckoned with. That's why he had this apartment and his private suite and probably a number of other things on top of that that I'd discover slowly over time.

My mom sent me a text as I sat there, my phone vibrating against the leather of the chair. I snatched it up and read.

Her: Hi, Effie. How is the job going? We really miss you!

I sat there and pondered what to say. Honestly, I liked talking to her as much as I didn't like talking to her. We weren't as close as we had been in the past, and I felt like she was always trying to remedy that with honesty. My decision to move so far from home hadn't helped with that either. Well, at least we were just texting.

Me: It's great here. Having a lot of fun. How are things at home?

Her: We're good. Your father is doing one of his "projects" again, so we can't use the garage right now and everything is a mess. Have you met anyone out there?

That was the other thing she did that bothered me. Even though she said "anyone," it was a thinly veiled attempt at requesting information about my love life. Ever since my first boyfriend, she had always tried to quiz me for information about "boys" and "dates" and everything else I didn't want to discuss with her. She wanted to be a cool mom.

The only problem was, if something was wrong and she could tell, she'd start dispensing information that was so outdated that I swore I had mistakenly gone back in time and been born during the Civil War.

Me: Nothing serious, Mom. Don't worry about it.

After that, she proceeded to send me giant block paragraphs about all the things she was doing in her early retirement, the classes she was taking, the messes she was cleaning up. I swore she only asked me about myself just so that she could follow up by talking incessantly about her own activities.

No, even if I tried, I could never reform my mother. She was perfectly happy in the world she had constructed for herself, so I just did my best to cope with it. It didn't matter if I actually responded to what she was saying; saying it was enough for her.

I guess Jack and I were similar with regard to our parents.

My eyes staring at nothing in particular, I thought about my mom and dad, their marriage so traditional and essentially loveless. I always swore that I'd never wind up in a situation like that, one centered around convenience instead of love. I needed to stop thinking so seriously, however, especially about my parents' marriage. I had a lot of my plate already between Jack and my job and this city that could swallow me whole like a monster. They were retired and had all of the time in the world to sort things out.

And maybe I needed to loosen up with regard to my mom. I had closed myself to her years ago, locking the door and throwing away the key. Maybe she was just seeking to rebuild that former connection we had when we were both younger.

I don't know if it was just the stuff with Jack or what, but I was feeling unusually optimistic.

I was getting more and more fixated on new beginnings, I guess because my life had become one giant new beginning. Looking around the lavish, urbane designer apartment, I realized just how true that statement was for me. New York was a totally different city for the privileged than it was for everyone else.

Honestly, I could have met anyone from a homeless man to a hipster coffee shop musician to an investment banker. Well, I did meet Jesse, so I had one of those covered. Instead, I was with a super-rich, talented, gorgeous man who lived in a world