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)
“You’re always complaining about your apartment building. So move.”
“Pfft! To a new skyrise condo like yours?” No character. No charm. Just lots of stainless steel, elevators, and shiny new tile. I loved older buildings. They had personality that made the neighborhood unique.
“You’d probably save four or five hundred a month,” she pointed out. “Plus, secure underground parking and a security guard.”
“No thanks.” Though, I might have to consider moving soon if the owners—some big company—raised the rent again. If it weren’t for the place being one block from my favorite coffee shop and Christmas boutique, plus a short commute to work, which I did by bus when the weather wasn’t a ball-freezer, I would have moved already.
“Meri, I can get you a rental in my building. My company manages the property. You just need a steady job and good credit, which we both know you have.”
Good job, perfect credit. Never missed a payment.
She added, “Just say the word, and I’ll find you a place. Even an old crappy one like you have now.”
“Hey,” I protested, “just because something’s old doesn’t make it crappy. But thank you.”
“What are friends for? Especially if it helps you get to the finish line faster. If you get there.”
She meant that she still didn’t believe I’d keep my word about not spending myself into the poorhouse for Christmas. Even though we were talking again, things were still tense between us, almost like Kay was pre-angry and fully expected to be let down again. Guilty until proven innocent.
“I’ll get there,” I said. “In fact, I’m going to my storage unit this weekend to sort through all of my stuff. Want to come?”
“Can’t. Going to hang out with my sister. She’s pregnant.”
“Again?” I said.
“Yep. Number four.”
“Jesus. She’s a year younger than us.” I started pumping my legs faster on the stair machine, making my large tatas bounce all over the place.
“I know, but why are you doing that?” Her eyes darted to my feet and then to my chest. “Jeez. Go easy on the girls, Meri. They might fall off.”
“I’m getting oxygen to my ovaries. It could be a while until I put them to use.” I didn’t even have a boyfriend.
She laughed. “Not sure it works that way, but the exercise can’t hurt since cookie season is coming.” She paused. “Oh, by the way, I started seeing someone.”
I stopped climbing.
“Guy from work,” she added.
My jaw dropped. “Coffee guy?”
She smiled. “He’s dinner guy now. Also breakfast. Two times.”
My eyes went wide. “Ohmygod. That’s great. Why didn’t you tell me?” She’d been pining for him for months, trying to work up the courage to tell him she was interested without it getting awkward. Dating at work wasn’t easy these days. Lots of HR landmines. But how else were people our age supposed to meet other dysfunctional, horny, semi-responsible adults to settle down with?
“I didn’t want to jinx it, but he’s…wonderful.” Her cheeks began glowing to a rosy, smitten shine. “I even let him go down on me.”
The guy on the stair machine next to her looked over and grinned, giving a nod of approval.
“Mind your business, perv,” I barked and then looked at Kay. “Big step. I’m proud of you.” Like me, she had her hang-ups. Hers were mostly rooted to the fact her parents refused to let her have a phone, razor, or makeup until she was eighteen. Super-hippies. She’d never even tried meat until she was thirteen. My ham sandwich. Anyway, I helped her defy them any chance I got, as a good teenager and best friend should, but there wasn’t much I could do about her razor situation. I gave her one every time my mom bought me a pack, but she had to decide when to use them. Summertime was always the worst for her because her parents would know if she’d shaved since we spent lots of time at the pool. Unfortunately, her first boyfriend, at the age of sixteen, discovered the hard way what she had going on down there. Seventies bush. Wild, unfettered, womanly jungle meant only for the most seasoned explorer.
He had not come armed with a machete.
Nor had he been prepared for a mouthful of bristly foliage.
Yet the fool had gone diving in with an open mouth, like an eager child attacking an ice-cream cone. What happened next was a nightmare of gagging and coughing since he’d apparently inhaled a curlicue. Kay never recovered from the event, even if she’d taken control of her life after high school. The woman had a punch card for Brazilian waxes.
“So, was it good?” I asked, snapping my eyes toward the interloper next to us, who was now pretending not to listen.
“It was better than good.” She leaned toward me. “In fact, he asked me to, you know, grow it out a little, and I did.”