Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 66259 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 331(@200wpm)___ 265(@250wpm)___ 221(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66259 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 331(@200wpm)___ 265(@250wpm)___ 221(@300wpm)
I’ll be the modern-day Jack.
My heart will most definitely not go on.
“So, um, okay,” he says, and I can tell I made it so very awkward. “I’ll let you go, love you little Scar.”
“Love you too, Dad!” I force the cheerfulness, hang up, and collapse onto the couch. I find it hard to move, not because I’m stunned but because I have so much to do in such little time, and now I’m petrified Dad’s going to tell everyone I have a boyfriend in the music industry.
“It’s fine, it’s fine,” I tell myself. “Just explain to them that you broke up when you get to the wedding, fake a tear, everyone will feel sorry for you, then you’ll drink copious amounts of champagne and lean on the priest.”
Wow, even as I say it out loud, I want to walk into incoming traffic and wait for a bus to run me over.
Instead, I shoot to my feet, grab Bruno’s leash, and call for him. “Let’s go Bruno, it’s time for our walk and our plotting.”
And now I have Pinky and the Brain on my mind. “What are we going to do tonight, Brain? What we do every night Pinky, try to take over the world!”
I don’t realize I’m actually outside saying this out loud with my fist in the air until two high schoolers walk right by my apartment building and stop then start snickering.
“Yeah, well!” I yell after them. “Laugh now because it’s all downhill from here! Go enjoy your cafeteria lunch and making out after the football game because this,” I say, pointing to myself, “is your future!”
They ignore me.
As they should.
Mr. Grenady, my neighbor walks by me and tilts his head then offers me a freshly unopened bagel. “I think you need this more than I do.”
Tears threaten. “Yeah, I do.”
I take it.
He smiles. “Things aren’t always downhill after high school… have a good walk with Bruno and eat all of it!”
I nod and shove a bite into my mouth immediately then with my mouth full say, “Thank you for the bread.”
Yeah, you know you’re in a rough place when you cry over a free bagel, but I’ll take it. I eat it all, and I really do plot along the entire two-mile walk with Bruno.
If she’s going to wear white.
I’m wearing off white.
And I’m going to buy an extra dress for every occasion listed.
I stop suddenly, nearly choking, and whisper, “With red heels.”
CHAPTER NINE
Killian
One Month Later
“D-Day!” Dustin adjusts his black-rimmed glasses at least five times with his sweaty little hands before checking his iPad again.
Swipe.
Swipe.
Swipe.
We’ve been in the SUV for maybe five minutes, and I’m already wondering if the child safety lock is on the doors and thinking about worst case PR scenarios if I jump out into oncoming traffic.
As Dustin continues to swipe, his facial expressions go from excitement to focus, then back to screaming excitement so that one might think he saw a boob.
Instead, I’m going to assume it was a picture of a Stegosaurus or some dinosaur he’s going to immediately feel the need to tell me about for the next hour as we drive from the Pasco airport to the winery.
For the love of God, please let it at least be a T-Rex; that would at least prevent my certain jumping from a moving vehicle.
“Wow!” He shakes his head like he just can’t fucking believe it. “Did you know that the mouse has supersonic hearing? And they can fit through a hole the size of a pencil?”
Please don’t take out a pencil please don’t take out a pencil.
And he’s already reaching into his briefcase. He pulls a yellow number two pencil like he’s Arthur with Excalibur and thrusts it into the air right in front of my face, nearly poking me in the eye in the process. “See! Can. You. Imagine?”
I stare at him. Hard. He has no ability to read the room. At all. I lean back in the seat of the SUV and sigh. “No, Dustin. I really. Cannot. POSSIBLY, fathom a mouse fitting through that pencil. So about the sched—”
“And, and!” He puts the pencil away and leans in. His shiny white teeth gleam in sharp contrast to his slicked-back, jet black hair. He’d be a good-looking guy if he just… didn’t… speak.
Ever.
He’s even wearing nice clothes, a calm baby blue T-shirt matched with some fitted jeans and black boots.
“And,” he says a third time like he can’t even handle his own excitement over mice. “You can see their urine under a black light!”
And officially filing that under useless things I will never think of again.
“Wow, a hundred babies a year! Oh look, look!” Please no. He thrusts the iPad into my face. “Their teeth grow longer every day.”
I shove the iPad away. “Good for them. Say, shouldn’t we go over the schedule? For the performance? For the wedding?”