Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 77793 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77793 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
If I had made the decision to stick with Orion’s family, I would be giving up everything here, including Mrs. Johnson. I know she doesn’t have any kids who visit and no grandchildren, either. It’s like she’s been forgotten. If I never came back, what would she do? She’d be so lonely and hurt. And if I told her I was moving, she’d probably put on a brave face and be equally as lonely and hurt. I have good reasons to stay here. The whole excuse I used about having a life here wasn’t really an excuse.
I pull out the letter, take a steadying breath, and unfold it. It’s a single sheet of paper. Somehow, I thought there would be more.
I scan the black type quickly. Along with a terrible burst of hope that I should in no way be feeling, my indignation grows with every word.
We regret to inform you that we cannot process your divorce papers at this time until the errors are rectified…
Section 2b, 5a, 8a, 10a—signatures and printed names do not match our records. Please address the misspellings and resubmit the paperwork at your convenience.
“Oh my god!” I stamp my foot, slam the letter down onto the counter, and inhale sharply at the same time.
Did Orion do that on purpose, or did he really not remember how to spell his own fake name? It had been a year since he used it. Maybe he only used it for that trip to Vegas. It was a very silly name. I don’t know if I can remember how to spell it myself, but that’s just ridiculous. It’s utter insanity. Maybe if one cannot spell Grosseldorfbiscuithopper, then one should not pick that as their fake last name.
The paperwork hasn’t been processed.
We’re still technically married.
I have to get in touch with him again.
That means calling Scarlet because there’s no way I’m flying back down there again. He can get a copy of the paperwork and do it up the right way by making sure he freaking spells his name correctly this time. I don’t need to go there and babysit him to do it. I don’t need to see him in person again, no matter how hard my pulse is pounding and my va-jay is leaping. I mean, my hopes are leaping. The illogical side of my everything is leaping.
Just because the papers weren’t processed and I enjoyed a few kisses and, um, maybe a little bit more doesn’t mean there’s an us. And just because I kind of enjoyed his company and felt all warm and mushy and good in a way that I never felt even when I had a mom who stuck around doesn’t mean I belong there with them.
“Uckfay ymay ifelay.” I’m pretty sure that’s pig Latin for fuck my life. If not, then I just uttered a bunch of gibberish. “Cookies. Tea. Cookies and tea are waiting. Go talk to Mrs. Johnson. You’ll feel better. Then, after you’ve cooled down, come back and call Scarlet and explain what happened. She’s reliable. She’ll fix things.” I swallow past the sudden constriction in my throat. “Can she fix you talking to yourself now too?” Damn it.
Cookies. I need cookies.
I can deal with this mess after. That’s all it is. A mess. It’s not like a sign or anything. I’ve already had my universal sign, so I’m not expecting another. This is just Orion misspelling his fake name. Definitely not a sign. Not a reason to be hopeful. Not anything. They’re not my family. Not my family. Not my family. They’ll never be my family. Mess, mess, mess. Wrong, wrong, wrong. Wreck, wreck, wreck. Bad, bad, bad. That’s all that would come of dreaming about that life.
“Cookies! Go. And. Get. Cookies. Stop. Thinking. Right. Now.” I stare the letter down, daring myself to believe that it’s a sign. “It’s not a sign. Quit talking to yourself.”
Damn it all over again.
I think the letter might be a sign.
CHAPTER 11
Orion
“Hitsay, uckfay, hitsay again, that letter was totally a sign.”
“Are you speaking pig Latin?” I asked, even though that wasn’t what I planned on saying when, or if, I ever saw Echo again. I had so many things planned, but she totally threw me off track.
Then again, if I were her, getting ambushed by me right after she got off work, I’d probably be speaking in pig Latin too.
“What are you doing here?” She gapes at me, and I’m not sure if it’s a good or bad gaping.
It’s not the kind of gaping that says how did you find me? She already knows how we found her, and she probably guessed it would only take us an hour at most. In truth, it took Granny fourteen seconds. I don’t think Echo would be offended since she wasn’t trying to hide. I also don’t think she’d be impressed. Everyone likes to have their privacy. I’m not entirely sure she’s pleased. I don’t know what was or wasn’t a sign or if she was waiting for one.