Page 71 of The Charlie Method

“Hell yes. You’ve talked about wanting to move back home for years.”

“I have, haven’t I? See? Itoldher that.”

I fight a smile. “Her, as in Mum?”

“Your mother is very unhappy about this.”

“Why?”

“She doesn’t want me to take the job. It would be uprooting our entire life for a second time. She doesn’t want to go through that again.”

“But she’d be goinghome.”

“She said she doesn’t consider it home anymore.”

I suppose that doesn’t surprise me. Mum has lived in Indy for almost twelve years now. She’s become ingrained in the community, built real friendships, a solid career. She fixed up our house from top to bottom.

But Indy isn’t home. And it’s damn ironic that the guy who only lived in Sydney for ten years considers it more of a home than the woman who spent thirty years there before relocating.

Dad’s like me, though. Every year at Christmas, he and I stare at the snow beyond the window and get the same look on our faces. The one that sayswe could be surfing right now. Sure, snowboarding’s sick, but the holidays always fall in the middle of hockey season. Coach would break my legforme if I risked breaking that leg on the slopes during the season.

“So, what? You’re not going to take it?” I grab a T-shirt and slip it over my head, then bring the phone back to my ear. “Just like that? You’re saying no because Mum says no?”

“I don’t want to say no. I really want this. But marriage is a two-way street.”

“Marriage is also about compromise.”

“She already did that once,” he reminds me. “Your mum compromised by moving to America when she didn’t want to.”

“Yes, and now she loves it here. Right now, she’s saying she doesn’t want to return to Sydney, but eventually she’ll love it there again too.”

“Why are you so gung ho about this, Beck?”

“I just like the idea of having you guys there.” I hesitate for a beat. “If you were, maybe I’d move back too.”

“Would you really?” Dad sounds surprised.

“Maybe. I don’t know. I’d have to think about it. But I definitely thinkyoushould do it. Do you want me to talk to Mum about it?”

“I do, but then she’ll think we’re ganging up on her, so let’s hold off for now.”

“When do you need to give an answer about the job offer?”

“They said I have until December to let them know. The starting date isn’t until the spring.”

“That gives you time to work on her. If you need to tag me in at Thanksgiving, give me the signal.”

He chuckles. “Thanks, kid. Now go on your run. I’ve kept you on the line long enough. Talk to you later.”

“Later.”

I pull a hoodie on and tuck my keys and phone in the front pocket. I hate running with my keys, but Will isn’t home from class yet. I pop my earbuds in and, for the next hour, try to blast away the sound of the keys jingling in my pocket. I return home sweaty and cold but feel better after a hot shower and some leftover pizza.

I resettle on the couch to find my laptop dead, so I grab Will’s off the side table because I’m too lazy to go look for a charger. I open his computer to find an unsaved document on the screen. Something calledThe Virgin and the Blade, by something called Lourdes.

What the fuck is he reading?

Curiosity gets the best of me, so I lean back and start to read. And…damn. This…sure is something. The author used the wordeffulgentthree times in one paragraph. I don’t think I’ve ever used it once in one lifetime.

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