Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 89012 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89012 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
“That’s different.”
“Is it, though?”
“Yes. Yes, it is.”
I hum. “I read on Social that he just sold his business—”
“Which is an incredibly nice way of saying that he owed his ex-girlfriend’s parents a very large sum of money and, because of their … shady background, he had to pay up or probably get whacked.”
My laughter fills the small room. “How do you know this? And since when do you use the word whacked?”
“I’ve been watching a lot of television. That’s how you fill the time when your only daughter moves away, and then moves back and refuses to stay with you.” She lifts her chin. “But this is also a very small town and Sara still comes over for dinner once a week, so I know things.”
I snort as my phone rings. I glance at the screen. “Her ears must’ve been burning.”
“Hey,” she says over the speakerphone. “What’s happening?”
“I’m at Mom’s. We just finished dinner and were just talking.”
“What did she make?”
“I made her minute steaks and brown gravy,” Mom says. “And potatoes, of course—”
“And those yummy Brussel sprouts with the bacon pieces,” I chime in.
“Gretchen, you know that’s my favorite! There better be leftovers,” Sara says, much to my mother’s delight.
Their interaction warms my heart.
“Do you know what this daughter of mine just told me?” Mom says, scooting closer to the phone.
“No. What?”
“She told me that she’s going to the Bahamas, and she was thinking of taking Warren Cartwright with her.”
Sara gasps. “No, you aren’t, Ashley. I swear to all that’s holy, if you take him, I’ll never talk to you again.”
“There are days when I might take you up on that,” I joke.
She gasps again—this time even more dramatically.
“I’m kidding. I was only suggesting that I take him for a good time. I wasn’t saying I wanted to get back together with him,” I say. “Who are you to tell me not to have casual sex?”
“You’ve never been that person,” she says. “And while I’m incredibly supportive of you having casual sex—”
“You girls do know that I’m sitting here, right?” Mom asks.
“Sorry.”
Mom shrugs. “I’ve had casual sex in my life. Just because I haven’t had any in a while doesn’t mean I’m not on the hunt.”
“Mom!” I laugh. “Let’s not have this conversation right now.”
“Gretchen, I’ll come over tomorrow and we can put together your hunting plan. But right now, let’s focus on your daughter and her horrific taste in men. It’s the absolute worst. Worse than mine and I’m banging my boss three times a week and I don’t think he even likes me.”
Mom shakes her head.
“Anyway …” Sara gasps. “Wait! I have an idea.”
I set the brochures on the couch beside me and cringe. “That’s scary.”
“No, this is good,” Sara says. “Use your turn signal, asshole!”
Mom looks at me and sighs.
“Sorry, I’m driving,” Sara says. “When are you going home?”
“She is home. She’s at her mother’s,” Mom says, side-eyeing me.
“Sorry, Gretchen. I mean, when are you going to Rebecca’s, Ashley?” she asks sweetly.
“Better,” Mom mumbles.
“In a little bit. Mom just gave me a stack as big as War and Peace of houses for sale from Daytona Beach to Sunnyvale to go through.”
“If I can get you to buy a home here, maybe you won’t leave me again,” Mom says.
“I wasn’t that far,” I protest.
“It wasn’t that far to you.”
“Well, call me when you get there,” Sara says. “No—I’ll meet you there. This must be done in person.”
“Okay, but I’ll be a half hour or so,” I say to Sara.
She groans. “Hold on. I can’t come tonight. I forgot I’m having brunch in the morning with someone from Petterson Label Wines at Shade House. They rescheduled last minute. I have a ton of information to peruse for that and I’m swamped at work. How about I’ll come by Friday night? That will give me more time to iron out the wrinkles in my idea.”
“Fine. See you then,” I say.
“All right. Bye, Gretchen. Love you.”
“Love you, sweetie,” Mom says to her.
I hang up the phone, not sure what just happened. But I have no time to replay it.
“It’s getting late. You better be going,” Mom says.
Instead of getting up, I fall into the cushions and give her a puzzle look. “It’s seven o’clock.”
“That’s true. But I have a new bottle of sangria waiting on me and a bath bomb that I got out of the box you brought back from Orlando. So run along so I can relax.”
“Are you kicking me out?”
She stands, a playful smirk on her face. “If you wanted to stick around, you could’ve moved in.”
“You’re playing dirty. But fine. I’ll go.”
We say our quick goodbyes and I’m out the door.
The early evening sun hits my face. It’s hot and sticky and reminds me of seeing Maddox at this time yesterday.
I’ve never compared my boyfriends to Maddox. It would be like apples to oranges, mostly because I don’t think of Maddox in a romantic way. But I did find myself comparing him to Eton more than once.