Total pages in book: 49
Estimated words: 47241 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 236(@200wpm)___ 189(@250wpm)___ 157(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 47241 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 236(@200wpm)___ 189(@250wpm)___ 157(@300wpm)
I’m getting that trip.
Around six p.m. the guests began arriving. We’d ended up with way more food than we needed, in my opinion, since Tony’s Trattoria provided the catering, and they didn’t skimp. Pasta, pizza, salad, and enough bread to feed an army of caroling gremlins.
The DJ played a mix of cheery Christmas classics and modern holiday pop that seemed to please both my parents and the high school students, who kept sneaking wine when they thought no one was looking.
“Libby,” I said, finding her by the punch bowl, “keep an eye on the bar, okay? Larry is just putting out glasses and not watching who’s taking them.” Larry was the designated bartender at most town functions because he charged nothing and only drank a little. Still, those small clear plastic cups were moving fast.
“Sure, Meri. Oh, hey, I wanted to tell you,” Libby’s words came out slow and dopy, “I’m super grateful you showed up to help. Couldn’t have done this without you. Kay is lucky to have you as a best friend, even if you’re out there. Yanno?”
“Out there?” I wasn’t the one getting high at a charity event.
“I only meant that you’ve always been a big dreamer.” She swayed a bit and then burped. “Don’t ever stop, Meri Beri.”
Lord. How had this woman given birth to functional adults? It just went to show that everyone had their own destiny despite their upbringing.
“If you want to thank me,” I said, “let my parents drive you guys home tonight, okay?” Kay’s dad was here somewhere, too, probably goosing the grass like Libby.
“You’re right. So right. Can you run the auction tonight?” she asked. “I think I overdid my stress-relief gummies.”
No. No… I wanted to bid on my trip. I needed that trip. But I couldn’t bid if I ran the auction.
My heart sank a little, knowing I’d have to put myself last one more time. “Sure, Libby. Don’t worry about it. Just be proud that you put on this great event tonight. And whatever you do, don’t drive home.”
She gave me a salute and wandered toward the food.
“Meri. Hey…” said a deep voice. For a split second, my stomach fluttered, hoping it might be Beau. Despite not wanting him here, I needed answers. And, maybe, I missed him a little, though I wasn’t about to admit it.
I turned to find a man with a big Christmas tree hat staring down at me. He had thin lips and a pockmarked face, and his sweater gave new meaning to the words “ugly sweater.” His had the silhouette of a naked woman strategically holding a tiny candy cane. Yes, as in she planned to put it somewhere special.
“Oh, hey,” I said, not having a clue who this grotesque creature was, which he picked up on.
“It’s me, Kevin from school.” He pointed at his chest, poking the lady’s boobs on his sweater.
I stared for a long moment before the dots connected. “Kevin Foster?” The guy who gave me the reputation of being a mega-slut?
“So great to see you.” His eyes floated down to my breasts.
Gross. “Kevin, I haven’t seen you in ages.” How unfortunate that he was breaking my winning streak.
“I went away to New York for college. Ended up becoming a lobbyist for a big pharmaceutical.”
Also gross. “Well, great to see you,” Grinch of my burgeoning sexual years, “but I have to check on the eggnog.” We didn’t have any, but whatever. “Hey, don’t forget to bid tonight. Stocking eight has one month of free teletherapy visits.”
“Eh, okay. Great to see you, Meri. Maybe we can grab a drink later,” Kevin called out as I walked away.
“I’d love that!” I said back. “After I drink rat poison.” I looked over my shoulder at his confused face.
Maybe he’d heard me. Maybe not. But there wasn’t a chance in snowy hell that I’d give that weasel a second more of my time.
Slutty tumbleweed. Asshole! Did he have any clue what his bullying had done to me? He’d taken a perfectly geeky girl, full of geeky-goodness potential, and shoved her into a shell so deep that she didn’t come out until she was twenty years old.
Even now, I had to wonder if my pattern of self-denial wasn’t related to feeling so ashamed of myself, like I didn’t deserve good things. And for what? For having bad hair? Big boobs? A nerdy obsession with holiday crafting?
Screw that guy. I smoothed my hands over my hair. The mountain air was giving me the frizzies. Ugh. Not now. At least I looked spectacular in my tight red dress and white furry coat.
I drew a slow breath and headed to the miniature stage to begin the auction. I turned on the mic and waited for the DJ to wrap up the song “Blue Christmas” by Elvis. As I tapped my foot, my eyes gravitated toward a tall man coming toward me with thick black hair and a long white beard. He stared with intense blue eyes.