Practice Husband

The first character in a book I read as a girl that really felt like me was Anne Shirley. Right up to the moment she cracked the slate over Gilbert’s head.

Anne is thoughtful and creative and prone to daydreaming, just like I’ve been all my life. But I would never make a scene in the middle of class the way she does. I would never be so bold, so caught up in emotion that I forget other people are watching.

I would never risk that kind of embarrassment or let others see me as out of control.

Not as a child. And not today.

I’m Anne Shirley without the temper and passion. I’m Jo March without the wild spirit. I’m Jane Eyre without the courage and defiance.

In other words, I’m not the kind of woman that books are written about.

I’m the kind that only reads them.

That’s me. Sam Greyson. (My real name is Samantha, but no one calls me that.) I’m smart. Introspective. Articulate. Easy to get along with since I usually keep my opinions to myself. I’m twenty-six, and I have two master’s degrees and am working on my third. I know more truths about the world from books than most people know from living much more exciting lives.

But I’m not a crack-the-slate-over-a-boy’s-head kind of girl.

I sometimes wish I were.

Particularly at the moment, because the man sitting across the table from me needs a good walloping.

My grandfather, whom the entire world knows as Pop, is telling me about how silly and immature my sister Chelsea is, and it’s making me mad.

There’s no sense in getting angry with Pop though. He started a restaurant fifty years ago named Pop’s Home Cooking, and it grew into a large regional chain that made him a fortune. He’s been treated like a king in Charleston, West Virginia for most of his life, and he doesn’t respond well to arguments or criticism.

He raised me and my two sisters after our parents died, and he’s basically the only family we have left. I love him, and I understand him better than my sisters do. I usually enjoy having lunch with him every Wednesday since he tells great stories and (usually) has a biting sense of humor.

But he’s narrow and judgmental, and he likes to get his way. So our lunches don’t always leave me with a sense of peace and tranquility.

Today is one of the less tranquil days.

“You need to talk to Chelsea, girl,” Pop says, his gray handlebar mustache bristling the way it always does when he’s feeling something deeply. He wears jeans and a sports jacket every day of the week, no matter the temperature outside.

I take a deep breath and smile. It’s always best to smile at him, even when you want to snarl. Showing anger only makes things worse. “She’s really doing fine, Pop. She’s only twenty-four.”

“I was married with a kid at twenty-four.”

Of course he was. He and my grandmother got married at eighteen and had a child the next year. Then their son grew up, and Pop disinherited him because our father didn’t join Pop in the business. “I know, but people don’t always get married so young anymore. Chelsea will settle down eventually.”

“She could at least get a job.”

“I don’t have a job.”

“But you’re in graduate school. That’s different.”

I suppose it’s different, but not as different as Pop seems to think. I’m collecting master’s degrees in the humanities because they’re fairly easy (for me) and enjoyable. So far it’s been English literature and art history, and I’m in my last semester of a degree in philosophy. I like taking classes, and a master’s thesis is really just a research essay on steroids.

If I was serious about an academic career, I’d get a PhD.

But a PhD is where academic success stops being a sure thing, so I haven’t done it yet.

The truth is our older sister, Melissa, is the only one of the three of us who has really applied herself and accomplished something impressive in terms of career. She’s earned herself an executive-level position at Pop’s Home Cooking, and she’s only twenty-eight.

Chelsea and I are still living on Pop’s money.

He thinks I’m the good one, however, because I don’t do anything bold or adventurous, I don’t defy him, and I never make a scene.

Pop adds, “And it’s time for you and her to start thinking about getting married.”

My stomach twists at this. I’ve been hoping that since Melissa married last year, Pop would stop putting the pressure on Chelsea and me for a while.

No such luck.

“We’re in no hurry,” I say, keeping my tone and face relaxed. “After all, I’m still in school.”

“But Chelsea isn’t. Marriage was good for Melissa. It’ll be good for her too. Get her on the right path.”

A chill runs through my arms, from my shoulders to my fingertips. I don’t like where this is going. “I’m sure Chelsea will be happy to get married as soon as she finds the right guy.”

“You could find yourself a man too. I don’t know why a nice fella hasn’t snapped you up yet.”

I know why.

Pop might think I’m good marriage material, but guys who aren’t my grandfather sure don’t.

“I’m sure I’ll find the right man eventually too.” I manage to keep the easy smile on my face. “I’m in no hurry. I’ll talk to Chelsea, but I really think she’s doing fine, Pop.” My voice is pleasant and appeasing.

He grumbles and wipes his mustache with his napkin. “Thanks, girl. Maybe you’ll rub off on her a little. You never get in trouble. You never make a fuss. I can always depend on you.”