Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 77582 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 388(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77582 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 388(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
“Aw, hey there, slinky girl,” Binx says, a smile in her voice as Freya hops up onto her lap. “You like my tattoos, don’t you?”
Freya clucks in agreement and scampers up the front of Binx’s dress to wrap around her neck, like a living mink stole from the 1920s.
“She does and I do, too,” I say. “I thought the full sleeve looked beautiful with your bridesmaid dress. The blue made the pinks and yellows in the flowers pop, and I hardly noticed the skull.”
Binx chuckles. “You’re sweet. My mother noticed the skull, big time. She threatened to drag me into the bathroom and have Dad sit on me while she tried to cover it up with foundation. The only way I escaped without an episode of adult child abuse was by threatening to leave and never come back. And to miss Mel’s wedding.”
The words connect like an elbow to the gut. In McGuire-land that’s a serious threat, and one I’m sure is going to have ripple effects for some time to come. “Wow.”
“Yeah,” she says, her tone taking a turn for the melancholy once more. “Now I’m really the black sheep of the family. I’ll be getting the silent treatment from my parents, while Mom lights candles for me at church, for the foreseeable future.”
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I understand the older generation has certain standards for what they deem appropriate, but…you’re a grown woman. You’re successful and kind and fun and you have the right to do whatever you want with your body.”
Binx swipes a hand across her cheek, laughing as Freya leans in to lick her knuckles. “Thanks. But they don’t believe that. They think I’m wild and embarrassing and that my body is an extension of the larger, McGuire-family body.” She sniffs, confirming my suspicion that she’s crying. I’ve never seen Binx cry. She’s the kind who keeps emotions other than joy or anger closer to the chest. “I just want to be myself without losing my family. Is that so wrong?”
“Of course not, sweetheart,” I say, my heart breaking for her. “I’m so sorry you’re in this tough place.”
Freya grips Binx’s wrist, holding her hand prisoner for more vigorous, comforting licks.
Binx laughs and sniffs again. “Thanks, Freya. And you, too, Tess. You’re a good one. Mel’s lucky to have you as a friend.”
“I’m your friend, too,” I say. “I hope you know that.”
“I do,” Binx says, her voice lifting as she asks, “So…you want to go grab a drink somewhere? Commiserate about being the only single women at the party? Talk shit about Aunt Evie’s hideous orange dress?”
“I would, but I have the beastie,” I say, motioning toward Freya.
“That’s okay. I know a place that doesn’t care if you bring animals. As long as they’re on a leash. Cute little dive bar with cheap beer and fun mixed drinks. Do you have her harness in the car?”
“I do,” I say, not sure if I’m ready to bring my man-hating ferret to a Bad Dog bar, especially not a dive bar where the men are likely to be rough around the edges. “But if a guy gets close enough to hit on us, Freya might rip his heart out. She’s protective tonight.”
Binx stands, laughing. “No worries. No one will hit on us. I’ll scare them off with my short hair and bulging muscles. Bad Dog men like a frail, delicate woman. Not one who’s obsessed with weight training.”
“They don’t like women near forty, either, so we’ll probably be safe,” I say, warming to the idea of a little single lady time. “All right. Let’s do it. Should I follow you in my car?”
“Nah, I’ll ride with you,” Binx says as she jumps off the porch, juggling Freya easily in her arms. “I’ll leave my car here and get one of my brothers to pick it up in the morning. Wesley’s always up for a good deed and he’s less likely to be hungover than the rest of them. Even Barrett was tying one on tonight. Taking advantage of the fact that his wife’s all knocked up and can’t drink, I guess.”
At the mention of Wesley’s name, I hesitate, but then Binx loops her arm through mine and guides me across the gravel road toward the cars. “And on the way, you can tell me all the hot catering gossip. Is it true that Georgia Devereux threw a cake at her mother during her baby shower?”
I smile. “It was a cupcake, not a cake, but it’s true. Then she went wild on the appetizers, pelting her sorority sisters with grilled shrimp and canapes. Mel had to charge her mother an extra five hundred dollars for clean-up. Apparently, third-trimester baby rage is no joke.”
Binx clucks her tongue. “I guess. But to be fair, Georgia has always been a wild card. One time, in high school, she set fire to the wrestling mats in the gym because she was pissed that boy sports got more funding than girl sports.”