Page 61 of Ask Your Mom If I'm Real

I whirled in my seat to see the man from earlier sitting there.

The hockey player.

Jeremiah Jones Dixon.

“How do you know?” I asked.

“Because she’s my friend’s sister.” He jerked his chin at his friend.

“Who’s your friend?” Gisela asked curiously.

“That’s Bryson Hardy,” he answered. “And they’re twins. They both have the best set of legs I’ve ever seen. And they’ve had them since middle school.”

“Ahh,” she said. “Is Bryson single?” She paused. “Or his sister?”

Bryson snorted. “I’m well and truly taken.” He paused. “Mostly. If she’ll ever agree to marry me, that is.”

“Your girlfriend hasn’t agreed to marry you yet?” I asked.

“Is she crazy?” Gisela asked.

“That’s what I keep telling him,” Jeremiah said. “But he swears that she’s just ‘finding her feet.’”

“Listen, Mia,” Bryson warned. “I’m just trying to be conscious of her choices.”

“You’ve been together for eight years, you’ve asked her five times to marry you, and she’s turned you down all five times. She lives off of your money, travels the world without you, and spends more time with her friends than you,” Jeremiah argued.

Was it bad that I found it hilarious that Bryson had called Jeremiah Mia?

“This argument is getting old.” Bryson rolled his eyes. “She’ll agree.”

It didn’t sound like it.

It sounded like she had a good deal with Bryson and was using him like she did his credit card.

I didn’t say that, though.

I’d spent my time dealing with so much abuse that it was easy to spot it.

Takes one to know one, if you get my drift.

“Maybe ask her a simple question,” I found myself saying anyway. “Where do you see yourself in five years. If you’re not in her response, then you have your answer.”

Bryson looked at me then and nodded. “Okay.”

Jeremiah’s eyes shifted to mine. He nodded at me, giving me his thanks.

Old argument indeed.

He looked relieved that someone else had given him advice on this matter when he’d likely been blue in the face with his pleas for his friend to listen.

I looked over at Gisela.

How many times had she tried to take me out of the situation I’d been in?

Had I been confident in her ability to get me out of the fucked-up situation, I might’ve given in a lot earlier.

But hell, she hadn’t been any better off than I had been.

---