Total pages in book: 47
Estimated words: 45357 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 227(@200wpm)___ 181(@250wpm)___ 151(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 45357 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 227(@200wpm)___ 181(@250wpm)___ 151(@300wpm)
My inner control freak was celebrating how right he’d been. How inevitable this was. Seriously, fuck that guy.
And yes, my mother was amazing. Best mom in the world. But I’m looking at my future now and there are some similarities I’m not that comfortable with. Will I be watching Fred grow up and possibly become the second or third female president of the United States—she would be mad if she were the first—with no one to share it with? Will I be listening to Roberta Flack while she sleeps, and wishing I hadn’t let Brendan leave because I was too afraid to trust him when he said he wanted to stay?
Let’s recap again. For Team Logic.
Brendan, the heterosexual playboy/pirate/pilot shows up with a dog. For me. Admits to wanting me without any hang-ups or hesitation. Deals with my neighbors. Builds my deck. Comes out to his friend. Handles first times and fires like a champ. Goes to a party where the women spend three hours discussing chin sag and large pores without a complaint. Surprises me at work to tell me he loves me.
I grab the remote and turn off the music.
“Oh good,” Mr. James says with a relieved sigh.
I honestly forgot he was still there.
“I thought I might have to put some pants on,” he continues. “To help straighten things out.”
I can hear Heather laughing through the window while Diane tries to shush her.
“Where’s my phone?” I ask Fred, patting my pockets. “I can’t find my phone.”
I stumble over the wine box when I get to my feet. Is the backyard spinning?
“About that,” Fred says, her voice oddly muffled. “Your battery died? So Austen sent me an emergency text message.”
“How does Austen have your number?”
Fred shrugged. “She signed one of my petitions a while ago. She’s really involved in local politics, plus she makes my favorite body scrub.”
She turns her screen toward me—not letting me hold it because I’m intoxicated and she’s smarter than I am—and I squint hard, trying to make out the words.
Austen: Tell M that B is at the airport ASAP! #SaveWatson
“I’m not sure who Watson is,” Fred says with a shrug. “But the rest of it sounded important.”
He’s at the airport? He’s leaving tonight? He just got back today.
“I have to go there. I have to stop him.”
“Fred, grab his keys and tackle him if you need to. We’re coming over.”
Diane’s warning has me racing toward the sliding glass door. “No one is taking my keys alive!” I shout dramatically. “I have to tell him!”
I’m not sure what happened in the seconds that followed, but I saw a flash of fur and ended up on my back on the kitchen floor, right where I plan to eventually put a nice banquette.
“Airport,” I wheeze.
“Well, that isn’t happening,” Heather says easily, hovering over me like an apparition. “Even if you could get in your car and drive without putting everyone else in danger, would you really want him to see you like this? You’re in worse shape than he was. I think the both of you should just stop drinking entirely if this is the end result.”
I rub my head. “Ouch. Did someone hit me?”
“Your little dog darted out in front of you, and you fell trying to avoid him,” Diane says with a certain amount of satisfaction. “Nothing’s broken, and it gave me time to hide your keys. You’re welcome.”
Dix is panting worriedly in my ear. Do dogs worry? Well, this one does. “It’s okay, Ridiculous. I’ll still love you. Even if he flies away before I can tell him what I need to and he starts dating a runway model. Even if I die alone.”
“Oh, good lord,” Diane mutters. “I had no idea wine made him so dramatic.”
“What do you want to tell him?” Fred asks from somewhere behind me.
“It’s a little personal,” I say, closing my eyes and wondering if I have enough energy to bob and weave around my jailers, find my keys and get to the door without falling on my face.
Sounds doable.
“We won’t tell.” Heather picks up Dix and walks over to the sink. “I’ll make some coffee while you practice.”
Practice. I don’t have to practice. I’ve had it in my head for years. “I’d tell him he answered my prayers in that hospital room and I’ve been grateful ever since. I’d thank him for saving me after Mom left. For being my friend, despite the fact that I push people away, I can’t drink, can’t be impulsive, and can’t fly away with him when he leaves.”
“Diane, are you crying?” Heather asks in a shocked, hushed voice.
“No. You know I don’t do that.”
I ignore them, imagining he’s standing there, looking down at me and laughing at my current situation. “I’d thank him for forcing me to have fun. Making me laugh and showing me my wild streak. And I’d tell him I’ve loved him since the first time I saw him. I’d even sing it for him if he asked this time,” I say with a smile, remembering. I might sing a few lines, I’m not sure.