Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 123435 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 617(@200wpm)___ 494(@250wpm)___ 411(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 123435 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 617(@200wpm)___ 494(@250wpm)___ 411(@300wpm)
And now I also remember what she told me about her mother. The way she described the woman. Highly critical. Self-centered. Zero empathy.
Checks out so far.
“I don’t know … I kind of like them.” Cassie’s flippant now, but the mere fact that she’s defending her fashion choices makes me frown. She doesn’t have to justify herself to anyone.
“I just think it’s something you should leave to girls like Joy, or Peyton. Girls with abs, you know?” Her mom gives an airy laugh, as if they’re sharing some lighthearted joke. “You need to have a very flat, toned stomach to pull off that kind of top.”
My eyebrows soar.
Fuck you. That’s what Cassie ought to be saying. I get it, respect your elders, obey your parents and all that. But come on.
“Eh, abs are overrated.” I have no clue how Cassie is managing to retain her composure. Somehow her voice remains calm and unruffled, when I suspect that inside she’s anything but.
“Sweetie. You know I want you to always look and feel your best. And it’s not only about showing the midriff. With your breast size? You need to choose your wardrobe carefully. I understand at your age you want to look sexy, but on your body type, most sexy outfits tend to have the opposite effect. There’s looking sexy, and then there’s looking like a bimbo.”
Cassie remains silent.
“Large breasts are a curse and a blessing. Trust me, I know.” Her mom laughs again, as if she hasn’t just bullied her daughter to the point of silence. “I think right now you’re seeing the curse aspect of it.”
Finally, Cassie lets out an awkward laugh. “Well, I mean, it’s not like I can get rid of these things, so …”
“I did it. There’s no reason you can’t either. We can talk to Dr. Bowers about doing a reduction.”
“I don’t want a reduction. I’ve already told you this.”
“You said you were scared of the anesthesia, but—”
“It’s not only that. I just don’t want it.”
“Cass—”
“I’m not doing a reduction,” Cassie repeats. For the first time since she stepped outside, her tone brooks no argument.
There’s a beat. Then her mother, totally unbothered, says, “You look tired. We probably shouldn’t be talking about this when you’re clearly exhausted. Let’s discuss it another time. Why don’t you head up to bed?”
“You’re right. I am exhausted. Bed sounds like a wonderful idea.”
“Good night, sweetheart. Love you.”
“Love you, too.”
After that conversation, it’s hard to believe there’s love on either end. Particularly Cassie’s mother. What kind of parent talks like that to their kid? Hypercritical, Cassie said? Try downright cruel.
I’m startled by the torrent of anger that floods my gut. I remain on the deck and pull out another smoke, my fingers shaking when I flick the lighter. I lean into the flame, sucking hard on the cigarette. That dark, angry sensation inside me only heightens, forming a knot of tension between my shoulder blades.
A light turns on. A yellow glow radiating from the second floor of the Tanner house. I tip my head toward it. I don’t have a direct view of Cassie’s window from down here, but I catch a blur of motion and then a fleeting glimpse of her face. She’s scrubbing two fists over her eyes.
Goddamn it. She’s crying.
My jaw tightens to the point of pain. I force myself to relax it and take another deep drag.
No.
Fuck that.
I snuff out my cigarette and head next door.
CHAPTER 18
CASSIE
When the window rattles the first time, I assume it’s the wind, though I was just outside and it wasn’t windy at all. Nonetheless, that’s the most logical assumption to reach when you hear your window shaking in its frame. But then it happens again. And again. And I realize I’m not hearing rattling. It’s tapping.
God. I do not have the energy for this, whatever this is, right now.
Sniffling, I swipe at my wet eyes on my way to the window. I know I’m too old to be crying over my mother’s veiled insults, and yet here I am. I think she just caught me off guard tonight.
I jump when a hand appears on the glass. Heart racing, I quickly lift the window open and see Tate’s face.
“What the hell are you doing?” I whisper-shout.
He’s literally clinging to the lattice like a monkey. And either I’m imagining it, or the delicate crisscross frame is beginning to bend under his weight. Everything about this situation seems extremely unstable.
Tate groans softly. “Can I come in or are you going to let me fall to my death? Because I’m pretty sure this thing is going to give out any second.”
“Have you ever heard of a door? More specifically, a front door? We’ve got one of those downstairs, and it has this little gizmo on it called a doorbell that you ring and then someone answers and—”