Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 67095 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 335(@200wpm)___ 268(@250wpm)___ 224(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67095 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 335(@200wpm)___ 268(@250wpm)___ 224(@300wpm)
“You’re coming with us on Christmas.”
“No, I’m not.” She shakes her head and attempts to shut the door, but I block it with my foot before she can.
“Yes, you are. I even ordered us a car service for the morning of so we don’t have to take the train out to Long Island.”
“Child, I’m staying home on Christmas. Now go on.” She tries to shoo us away.
Before, that might have worked, but now I know that she’s a big softie. I’m not going anywhere.
“Miss Ina, I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this, but the day you made me tea and let me cry on your shoulder and then sleep on your couch is the day you and I became friends. I don’t let my friends sit alone at home on Christmas, so Christmas morning you will be coming with me and Libby to our parents’ house—even if I have to break into your apartment and drag you with me.”
I smile, and she glares at me. Then she glares at Libby.
“I should call the law on you two for harassing me.”
“Do it.” I raise a brow, and she huffs again.
Libby tenses at my side, not knowing that the woman is all bark and no bite.
“Fine,” Miss Ina says, finally giving in. “I’ll come—but only because I want to.” She shakes her head as she starts to shut the door again, but I move my foot back in to block it again.
“Promise me.” I hold out my pinkie toward her.
“I should have left you to cry in the hall,” she says.
I don’t move anything more than one eyebrow, which I raise.
“Fine. I promise.” She slaps my hand, then slams the door.
“She’s still scary,” Libby says, taking my arm and pulling me along with her.
“I heard that! I’m glad you think so, seeing how your sister’s forgotten!” Miss Ina shouts through the door.
I laugh along with Libby as we head up the stairs to our apartment.
After entering, I kick off my shoes and sigh. “It feels like I haven’t been here in forever,” I say as we plop down on the couch next to each other. I haven’t been home for weeks. I’ve been spending all my time with Wesley, but with his mom and stepdad sleeping in his bed while he’s on the couch, I won’t be staying with him again until after Christmas.
“You haven’t, and it’s a lot quieter without you around,” Libby says.
I look at her and instantly feel guilty for not having been home much.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. Honestly, it’s been nice.” She smirks. “Do you think that you and Wesley are going to move in together sometime soon?” she asks, sounding way too hopeful. I pick up one of the pillows and hit her with it, making her laugh. “Seriously, though. What are you guys planning on doing?”
“I don’t know. It will probably be a while before we take that step. Our relationship has been moving too quickly from the beginning, and I think that we need some time to get to know each other before we make any big commitments.”
“That’s probably smart, but then again, you have been with him every day and every night. It doesn’t make sense to live here, paying rent, while spending all your time there with him.”
“True.” I hug the pillow to my chest. “But if I was to move out, do you think you could afford this place on your own?”
“Yes, Mom.” She rolls her eyes. “Plus, I’ve been tucking away the extra money I’ve been making at Tony’s the last couple weeks.”
“How’s it been, working there?”
Ever since the day I told Libby about Tony being in the hospital and Antonio needing help at the pizza parlor, she’s been going in a few days a week to help out with waiting tables and answering the phone. Antonio said they didn’t need help, but she went above his head and talked to his mom about it. I’ve also gone in a couple of times to pitch in, but Libby seems to have it under control. Mrs. Moretti adores her, which I think annoys the crap out of Antonio.
“It’s fine.” She shrugs, then fiddles with her hair.
That’s something she’s done since she was little—whenever she’s not telling the truth.
“Just fine?” I narrow my eyes at her, and she shifts in her seat.
“Just fine.”
“Is Antonio being nice to you?” I ask.
She rolls her eyes at the mention of his name.
“He’s being himself.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means he’s constantly complaining about my shoes, my clothes, and the fact that I wear makeup.”
“Don’t let him get to you.”
“I won’t,” she says, but I can tell by the set of her shoulders that his opinion bugs her.
“I’m sorry that he’s being a jerk.”
“Don’t be. His opinion of me doesn’t matter.” She waves my comment away. “I like his mom, and his dad is very sweet. So he can suck it.” She stands up. “I’m going to take a bath then watch a movie. Do you want to watch a scary one with me?”