A fit of laughter topples out of my lips. It’s the wine, I know, but I can’t stop it. A few seconds later and he’s chuckling right along with me.
“How much of this have you drunk?” Holden asks.
“Not much. I’m a lightweight. I never drink.”
“I remember you putting down quite a few beers back in the day,” he teases.
I cover my face with my hands. “Don’t go there.”
“What? Don’t remind you how you assured me that you drank all the time and got so shit-faced that I had to carry you into your friend’s house?”
“Yeah. Don’t remind me of that.” I peek through my fingers. “Not my best moment.”
He stretches his long legs out in front of him. “Well, I’m not living mine right now. Get this: I’m one of two final candidates for the job I want, and I actually have an edge.”
“That’s great!”
He grimaces. “Yeah, except that my edge comes from the fact that I’m getting married.”
“You are?”
I try to recall that bit of information but come up empty. Surely, he would’ve mentioned a small detail like marriage.
“No. I’m not getting married,” he scoffs.
“But then how are you . . . Oh . . .” My face falls. I can feel the heat in my cheeks. “I see. Big problem.”
“Yeah. Big problem, indeed.”
“Maybe you could just tell them it didn’t work out with . . . what’s-her-name.”
He props an elbow on the edge of the table and rests his chin in his hand. “I could. But I’d likely lose not just the edge but the opportunity altogether.”
“I think you’re being a little dramatic, Doc.”
I make a face and take another long sip of my wine. The more I drink of it, the better it tastes. And the better Holden looks, if it’s possible that he could look better than he did in those stupid sweatpants the other night.
He snorts. “I wish. They said married people demonstrate an ability to commit and see problems through. I can only imagine what they’d think if I tell them I ended an engagement and a job.”
He has a solid point, but I decide not to tell him that. It’s not going to help much. Instead, I try to spin it around.
“Maybe you’re looking at this all wrong,” I say, pointing at him. My finger bounces in the air, so I put it back on the countertop. “Isn’t it possible that they’ll see you as a good decision-maker who knows when to pull the plug? That’s a good quality to have. Very useful.”
His head twists in his palm so he can see me. “Are you always a glass-half-full kind of person?”
“Only when it’s other people. Totally a half-empty kind of girl when it’s my own life.”
He laughs and sits up. There’s still a crinkle of worry at the corners of his eyes. I wish I could say something to make him feel better, but I can’t think of anything more than I’ve already tossed out there.
“If this doesn’t work out, I’m going to be screwed. I’m going to have to go home, get a random-ass job that’s just treading water. And . . . I can just see it now,” he says with a sigh.
“See what?”
His face twists in disgust. “Dad letting me know what a failure I am and having to listen to that bullshit.” He runs a hand down his face. “Shit.”
“Okay, so if that happens, is it really a bad thing? I mean, maybe you’ll find something great. Maybe it’ll be a new open door.”
He flashes me a look. “Maybe, Miss Glass-Half-Full. But then it’s starting from the bottom somewhere else and spending the next ten years working my way up for nothing, really. I’ll look up and be forty and have nothing to show for it but paychecks. It would be a complete setback.” He pours what’s left of the wine into his glass. “Montgomery Farms would be a huge step in the right direction. My work would be relevant. Game-changing, even. Their work contributes to studies and new methods of animal care. I just . . . I have to get it.”
I hop off my stool and head to the cupboard. The wine is sloshing around in my stomach, and I need to find something to snack on.
I grab a box of crackers and carry them to the island. “But let me play devil’s advocate here and say you don’t get it. What will happen? You’ll go back to Phoenix?”
“I guess. I have an apartment there still.”
“Okay. So that’s a plus. Right? And you could find a position close to where you want to live, maybe by your friends. Could be cool.”
He holds on to the edge of the island and tips his weight so the stool is balanced on the back legs. “But I really don’t want to do that. I have this . . . itch to go somewhere new. Somewhere I can really . . . figure it out, you know?”