Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 124971 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 625(@200wpm)___ 500(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 124971 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 625(@200wpm)___ 500(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
“Hit me.”
Don’t tempt me.
I took my time getting the sheet sealed, then plastering it over the fridge, so he couldn’t miss it.
“This is not a rule, but a preference. Under this roof, you’re going to start eating your greens. You’re not so young anymore. You can’t eat pizza and cookies for eternity. There’s a veggie casserole in the fridge. I expect it to be gone by the time I come back.”
“Does that mean I can throw it straight into the trash?”
“If by trash you mean your gut, then yes.”
“Okay, Mom.”
We both stood in front of the fridge, examining our list.
House Rules
No pets
No hookups
No fraternizing with your spouse
Now that looked like a good marriage to me.
CHAPTER EIGHT
DUFFY
“I can’t believe we’re saying goodbye.” BJ unbuckled himself in my neighbor Charlie’s prehistoric Toyota Camry. Charlie let me borrow it, even though I knew what he thought. BJ didn’t need a ride. He needed to jerk me around one last time to ensure I was truly and faithfully his. We were parked outside the terminal of JFK. The heat was still unbearable, perhaps even more so, because everything—the concrete, the trees, the streets—was already permanently hot.
“Me either,” I said hollowly. I wore my gray-checked Donna Karen dress, minimal makeup, and my hair up, the way BJ liked it. Now if only I could muster the courage to tell him I was marrying someone else in his absence.
“So. We agreed on no emails, no calls, no connection until I’m back, right, babe?” He gave me his puppy face. This was his idea, not mine. Something about making sure we had time to reflect. My pride wouldn’t let me tell him I wanted to keep in touch. Not that it mattered. BJ said he wouldn’t have access to a phone unless he traveled from the monastery into Kathmandu to an internet café, which he didn’t intend to do often.
“Right.” I smiled tightly. “I’m starting my love life detox, in which I’m going to lose a hundred and seventy pounds of boyfriend.”
“A hundred and sixty-eight. I’m still riding that clean-juice weight-loss high from June.” BJ chuckled. “I’m going to miss you so much.” He pressed his lips against my cheek. “My heart physically hurts from this.”
So don’t leave.
Stay.
Propose, so I can at least get a fiancée visa.
Right. Speaking of. “I do need to tell you something.”
“What is it, babe?” he cooed, and I was beginning to get quite agitated with how he treated me like Winnie’s blind/old/half-dead dog.
I cleared my throat. Here goes nothing.
“Since I’m running out of time, and my visa expires at the end of the month, I decided to—”
“Holy shit!” BJ interjected. Again. This time he flung the passenger seat open. “Look who it is, Duffy! Kane! Kane from Cambridge. I thought he lived in Bristol? I wonder what he’s doing in New York.”
I clasped my mouth shut. I didn’t even remember Kane. Nor did I care to.
“BJ, wait—”
“You think he works in the city now? I gotta catch up with the guy. I’m gonna call after I pass TSA, ’kay? Thanks for the ride.” He leaned in to kiss me quickly, palming my cheeks and pressing his forehead to mine. “Love you to the moon and back. We’ll get through this. Mwah.”
I sat in the car, watching BJ dragging his luggage from the boot and hurrying toward a man I now vaguely recognized as someone from the rowing team. He turned to BJ, looking pleasantly surprised. I clutched the steering wheel in a death grip and told myself that I was being unreasonable. BJ couldn’t know what I’d wanted to tell him. And I’d hardly stood my ground, had I? Besides, did it truly matter? If I wanted to marry into money, I needed to appear less desperate.
I pressed my forehead against the wheel, sucking air into my lungs.
It wasn’t until a few minutes later that I realized I fell asleep on the wheel, thankfully not while the vehicle was in motion. A police officer knocked on my window. I rolled it down with a wince.
“Ma’am.” He parked a hand on his waist, staring at me pointedly.
Christ, I couldn’t catch a break today. Ma’am? I was quite clearly a miss.
“Hello!” I smiled politely. “Did I do anything wrong, Officer?”
“You? No. Your forehead, however, was honking that horn for thirty seconds straight.”
Bugger.
“You under the influence?” He arranged his belt over his stomach.
“Ha. I wish.” The joke did not land as well as I thought it would, as his face remained stoic. “Sorry. It sounded funnier in my head. I just dropped my boyfriend off. He’s going away for six months. I’m quite distressed about the whole thing. Sleep’s not in the cards for me these days, you see, so—”
He held his palm up. “I asked if you had a drink, not for your life story.”