Page 107 of Perfect
How have I never thought about this?
“Theo, what do you do?” He blinks, confused.
“Uh, I don’t know. I spend a lot of time thinking about you, that’s for sure. Outside of that, I mostly cook and clean and work out. There’s usually an audiobook involved. Right now it’sIQ84. Have you read it? I think you’d like it.” I look at him incredulously.
He needs a fucking life.
“What do you do forwork, Theo? You spendsomuch money.”
He looks a little surprised. “Wait, are you serious? Alex, I’m anAnderson. Why do you think I live in the Anderson House?” he says, gesturing vaguely around the room as I stare at him blankly.
“Thewhat?”
“The Anderson House? Anderson Timber?” I raise my eyebrows at him, confused. “Right, you’re from…nothere. Okay, so my family’s company was one of the first big timber companies in the state. The biggest, for a long time, actually. We had sole control of the company from 1885 until about a decadeago, and everyone along the line was smart about business and good at investing. Nana had a great sense for that part - she forced Boss into buying Microsoft and Apple shares super early, even though he thought it was bullshit.” He laughs a little. “She was sharp.”
I blink at him. “Isthatwhat you do? Run a business?”
He scoffs. “God, no. Boss sold our majority in the business after I went to prison. I still own forty-nine percent of the company, but I let other people run it for me and I live off a trust fund.”
“So,” I ask slowly, surprised at how casual he’s being about this, “you’re saying that you’re the heir to a timber fortune?”
“Heirandfortuneare exaggerations,” he says, looking a little uncomfortable.
“Are they?” He shrugs, turning me around and pushing me out of the kitchen.
“No more questions. Go get changed.” I walk upstairs, wine glass in hand, peeking into the office and looking at all the old, framed photos of timber yards, which make sense now. I ignore the guest room entirely, and Theo doesn’t seem bothered when I come back down in his clothes instead of something he bought me.
I wrap myself in a blanket on the couch and sip my wine slowly, watching the dating show. At some point, Theo leaves with all of the food, and I consider how sweet he’s being.
Alex, 7:45 PM:
we might drop by tomorrow
Bailey, 7:45 PM:
YES! Miles will be so happy.
I’m not particularly excited about any sort of Thanksgiving, but I kind of want to make it up to Theo that I’ve ruined his holiday.
When Theo gets back, he seems tired as he orders food in and pours himself a full glass of whiskey before settling in to watch a show he says he hates but seems to like. His arm goes around me the moment I curl up against him, and I keep my eyes on the TV but put it on mute.
“We kept it small, as a kid, just us. My dad cooked, I helped, and my mom drank champagne and called itmanaging.” He looks at me, shocked, but I don’t look at him. “There were two or three side dishes, different every year, and my mom hated turkey, so it was always duck or Cornish game hen or something. I also hate turkey, by the way.”
“Got it.”
“My mom would go to bed right after dinner, and then my dad and I would do the wishbone wishes, even with the tiny bird bones. I wished for the same thing every year, but I never got it.” Theo hums, kissing my hair, and I lean into him. “We’re invited to Bailey’s tomorrow. The only reason I’m going is because there’s going to be no Thanksgiving food. Would you like to go?”
“Yes, please.”
“She’s going to ask you a million questions to see if you’re a good boyfriend or not, so watch out for that.” Theo doesn’t comment about me calling him my boyfriend again, or push me to talk about my parents, or ask why I hate Thanksgiving, or ask what my yearly wish was. He just kisses me and holds me and criticizes the takeout for being too oily and the men on the dating show for being shitty.
I agree, because they are shitty.
So is Theo, but he’s also kind of the best.
32
THEO
