Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 67465 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 337(@200wpm)___ 270(@250wpm)___ 225(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67465 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 337(@200wpm)___ 270(@250wpm)___ 225(@300wpm)
I pull up to the driveway, my deathtrap of a car sticking out like a sore thumb in a neighborhood where people only want to be seen if they can be seen being wealthy. Boats dot the landscape, and every other driveway has sports cars sitting out that are worth three times what my parents’ house cost. I’m not very good at pulling sarcasm out of my ass, and I don’t think Van needs my commentary about the house, so I just ask, “Do you think we should go in?” No, just sit out in the car and bake in the heat all night.
Van swipes his hand over his forehead, letting me off the hook rather graciously. “I brought a second shirt, just in case. Although, maybe that’s the third shirt. Or a fourth.”
“Are you going to throw up again?”
“I think I’m okay. I’m here now. I guess I should just get it over with.”
I want to grip his hand. Squeeze it. Tell him it’s going to be okay. But I don’t. I’m scared to touch him again. I’ve hugged him, he’s kissed me and hosed me down, and I’ve felt his forehead. That’s more touching than I thought I’d get in a lifetime, and I’m kind of on sensory overload.
“I’ll grab the gravy.” I barely gasp the words out before I tumble out and dip back into the backseat, retrieving no less than eight containers that are all labeled. I noticed earlier that there is no liver gravy. I have to say; Mary is missing out.
“Christ,” Van says on the doorstep before he rings the bell. “The place is like a castle. Rather imposing.”
“I heard that you did alright for yourself in Europe.” At my words, he frowns, and I want the ground to open up and swallow me. “I mean, Kimmy was trying to figure out why you’d want her company when you were clearly a rockstar over there. Your investment company is amazing. When she looked it up and connected the dots and realized it was yours, she was super impressed.”
At least I get an eye roll to prove that he’s not mad. “I doubt she put it like that.”
“Well, something like that. I’ll talk to her, Van. It’s going to be okay.”
Soon, the door opens, and Mary is there with her bright orange bob that is no, not a wig, her country club style sweater and slacks, and pearl necklace. She barrels at me with open arms, crushing me to her like it’s been years since she saw me too, and not just recently at Nanny’s party. I’d basically freaking lived at Kimmy’s house growing up, even after my family moved. We had so many sleepovers, and we always hung out. I can’t count the number of times I’ve been over to every single one of the houses that Kimmy’s family lived in. Mary is like a second mom to me.
“Gravy!” she gushes after hugging us both. Van is stiff as a board, and he looks so uncomfortable. It was like the hug was too much, although, before this, he sounded like it was all he wanted. He doesn’t look like he wants to barf or make a break for it, though, so that’s good.
“Yes, gravy.” I hand the bag over. “Do you mind if I use your washroom? I had way too much water to drink before I drove.”
“Of course not! Go right ahead. You know the way. We’ll be in the kitchen. I have dinner ready and waiting.”
“I’m so sorry about being late.” I twirl around in the sundress. “I had so many of these to choose from.”
Mary winks at me. She knows I’ve probably never in my life been late for anything due to something clothing or makeup related.
I really do have to pee, and I did want to give Van a few minutes alone with his mom in hopes that things wouldn’t be awkward all throughout dinner and the whole evening. I might be here to soften the blow or whatever, or however Nanny thought this might work, to be Van’s sort of wingman—weird as that is—or intermediary or icebreaker or whatever, but if he didn’t have a moment alone with his mom all night, that would be unfortunate.
I take my time, taking the world’s longest pee in history. In reality, I sit on the edge of the claw-foot bathtub in the world’s most extravagant, huge bathroom, staring at the towel warmer on the far side. It doesn’t stare back. It just sits there, warming towels and whatnot. I’ve never had a warm towel in my life unless it came straight from the dryer, and that’s usually by happy accident.
I whip out my phone and pass a few levels on that silly game Nanny got me hooked on.
Finally, I make my way out of the bathroom.