Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 105825 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105825 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 529(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
“That’s real kind,” I told him. “But—”
“My daughter will be there.”
I froze, my mind racing. This whole thing was just a dumb crush, I told myself. I’d met Lorna once, while we were both amped up on adrenaline. Since then I’d built her up and up in my mind until she was some curvy goddess. That’s why I couldn’t forget her. That’s why I thought I liked her, in a way that made me ache with guilt.
I needed to meet her again, calm and peaceful. Then I’d realize that this was just lust, plain and simple. I'd be able to forget her and life could go back to normal.
“I’ll be there,” I told Russ.
7
LORNA
It was a perfect day. The sky was a rich, clear blue and the sun was warm, for April, warm enough that the women had shown up in gauzy shift dresses and the men were slipping off the jackets of their tailored suits. There was just a sigh of breeze, enough to make the calm surface of the Hudson shatter into tiny, dancing jewels and the scarlet ribbon that hung across the marina’s doors dance and swing. Waiters circulated with trays of champagne flutes and pretty little canapés. A string quartet was playing. It was New York high society at its finest.
And then there was me. I sure as hell couldn’t pull off a shift dress with my curves so I’d gone for a white maxi dress patterned with big blue flowers. I stood there feeling awkward and huge, an ostrich in a flock of flamingos.
It wasn’t just that the other women were slim. They were eye-catching and glamorous. They air-kissed each other and took selfies as they basked in the attention the men were giving them. Sure, they were younger than me, most of them mid-twenties, even the ones with forty-year-old husbands. But that wasn’t it: Paige was a few years older than me and she was having the time of her life, giggling and flirting effortlessly as man after man asked for her number.
The problem was me: I’d forgotten how to be anything but a mom. The idea of some guy wanting to flirt with me felt ridiculous.
Except for one guy. JD made the New York men in their suits feel flimsy and insubstantial, cut-outs from the pages of a glossy magazine. He’d become the star of all my nighttime fantasies, my ass grinding in circles against the sheets as I guiltily rubbed myself, imagining his muscled hips spreading my legs wide.
I flushed and buried the thought, turning so that the breeze from the river cooled my face. Then I glanced around nervously at the crowd. Everyone was in clusters, their backs turned to me. How was I supposed to break in?
I’ve never been good with people. My dad’s the master of small talk: he can weave these elegant, beautiful threads that pull people together and gently turn the conversation the way he wants it to go. I stand there unable to say anything, afraid I’m going to get tangled.
When Miles was born, he was exactly what my folks expected: a little version of my dad, complete with a winning smile and non-stop chatter. Then, a few years later, I came along and I couldn’t have been more different: when our extended family gathered for the holidays, Miles would toddle around and charm everyone while I sat in the corner and stared uncertainly. At daycare, where Miles had made friends on his very first day, I just sat there picking up toys and examining them, slowly turning the wheels of cars and piling up sand in the sandpit. When I showed an interest in the dollhouse, everyone got very excited, but the staff couldn't persuade me to give the dolls names or act out scenes with them. I just kept staring at the house and its walls and floors.
My mom died days after I was born so my dad had to raise me on his own. He tried his best to find a way to bring me out of myself but it was like we were from different planets. He was a born communicator: he’d started out as an architect but he’d built McBride Construction by talking to people and doing deals. My mom had been a rising star in state politics who people were tipping for the US Senate. How could their daughter have turned out so shy? I felt like an utter disappointment. I used to cry myself to sleep at night wondering why I wasn’t more like my brother.
Then, one Christmas when Miles was nine and I was six, my dad took us to a huge toy store to choose Christmas gifts. Miles wanted a magician’s set but I had no idea what I wanted. We wandered the aisles together until we came to an area where kids sat at tables playing with…what were those things? Like brightly-colored little blocks except, when you pressed them together, they stuck.