Total pages in book: 171
Estimated words: 164705 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 824(@200wpm)___ 659(@250wpm)___ 549(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 164705 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 824(@200wpm)___ 659(@250wpm)___ 549(@300wpm)
Like right now.
I unfastened a couple buttons on my dress shirt, pretending to listen to her read from one of Seb’s commandeered books. But really, all I could focus on were her lips. Specifically, how her lower one was so much plumper than the upper one, begging to be scooped into my mouth and sucked clean.
Cuddlebug crossed her legs, one foot dangling her slipper in the air. “Earth to Ollie. Are you even listening?” She slapped the yellow pages of the hardcover. A cloud of dust plumed from them. “You’re missing out on all the wild portions of the book.”
“Shit. I might’ve zoned out for a sec.” I blinked. Cleared my throat. “What are we reading again?”
“Sleeping Beauty and her Children.” She tapped the book with her finger and grabbed the half-empty wine bottle from the crate, stealing a small sip. “It’s a variation of The Sleeping Beauty, I guess. But I don’t like it.”
“Why not?” I rubbed the back of my sweaty neck. “I love it.”
I mean, she’d read it to me while I stared at her hopelessly, so I guess I liked it.
She narrowed her violet eyes. “You like it?”
“Yeah.” I shrugged. “What’s not to like?”
“Maybe that the prince rapes the princess while she’s asleep and impregnates her.”
“Oh.”
“Then, the King’s mom tries to kill the children and feed them to the King.”
Yikes.
I stole the bottle, forming words around its mouth. “I’m a sucker for complex families?”
“Sleeping Beauty literally gives birth while still in a coma.” Briar Rose’s mouth went slack. “This is not a fairytale. It’s Satan’s tale.”
I took a pull of the wine, setting it between us in the crate, tucked between the books. “I must’ve dosed off during that part.”
“I mean, holy hell, the lengths people went to back then for entertainment …” She shook her head.
“Remember … they didn’t have Netflix and pickleball.”
Briar Rose closed the hardcover and lowered it back inside the box, taking an extra moment to brush its spine one last time despite loathing its contents. Of all her quirks, I found this one the cutest. Ever since I started gifting her roses, she consumed any fairytale she could get her hands on. It occurred to me that she often hung onto my words and actions like they hid the secrets of the universe. As a kid, her attention made me feel ten feet tall. Nowadays, it stirred something confusing – even dizzying – inside me.
“Did you get my package last month? I almost gave up a limb for that copy of Marvelous Tales. Each time the auctioneer raised the bid, I imagined Dad beating me over the head with his wallet.”
Whenever I traveled, I always made sure to pick up a souvenir for her and ship it to whatever country her dad had hauled her off to at the time. Lately, I found myself sending over local versions of Sleeping Beauty. Other than their shared names, Briar Rose’s gentleness reminded me of the princess. Something about her dream-stricken eyes and soft-spoken words made me want to snuggle into her like a cozy blanket.
“I loved it.” She closed the box, biting her lower lip. “You got it when you went to Xi’an with Zach, right?”
“His mom would do anything to get him out of the house these days … even if it means sending him across the world with yours truly.”
We fell into silence, each of us lost in our own thoughts. We never had a problem filling the silence. I didn’t know what made this summer so different, but from the second I caught Briar Rose hovering off the edge of the veranda in that flowing pink dress, I found it impossible to speak without saying something dumb.
She finally shifted her full attention to me, sizing me up and down with her eyes, a worried frown stamped on her face. “I guess it’s my turn to ask if everything is okay.” Her hand squeezed my knee. “Tell me what’s bothering you.”
Cuddlebug got her name a decade ago when she decided she couldn’t go ten seconds without hugging or touching me. At five, I found it exasperating. We’d be in the middle of wrestling, kicking dirt, whatever, and she’d randomly stop everything to give me a soul-squeezing hug. I hugged her back, of course. I wasn’t a mean kid. I didn’t understand why she did that until the summer before middle school. Briar Rose held me whenever she could because she never got these hugs at home. To her, I was the closest thing to family, and it fucking ruined me that her parents sucked so hard.
And now, here she was, her hand on my knee, mere seconds away from milking the truth out of me.
What’s wrong is I want to kiss you, and I can’t stop thinking about it, I wanted to say. What’s wrong is I hate that you live so far away and maybe you should come and live with us. It’s not like your parents are gonna care.