Total pages in book: 153
Estimated words: 145123 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 726(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 484(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145123 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 726(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 484(@300wpm)
The click of the line going dead kills my opportunity for a rebuttal, but nothing can put a damper on my smile. Because by joining in just now, poor Wilson Phillips has solidified that my game of music with him will never, ever die.
When my phone rings again before I can even put it back in its place on the counter, I look at Benji as though he’s Alexander Graham Bell reincarnated. I mean, I feel like the inventor of the phone would have some kind of insight into the coincidental circumstances that have led to my newfound popularity.
My sister’s name is the last one I expect to see. Not because I don’t talk to her regularly—we’ve spoken so much since her divorce you’d think I was her new lover—but I’m usually the one to call her.
She has two young, wild boys that keep her on defense ninety-nine percent of the time, and that’s the kind of lifestyle you just barely survive. She doesn’t have time to think about calling me—at least, normally—so I don’t mind doing the legwork.
“Sammy!” I greet enthusiastically. My big sister is really going through it right now, but don’t let that fool you. She’s one of the best, most supportive, good-hearted humans I’ve ever met. I only wish I could take away some of her hurt—rewind some of the years she wasted on that puckered entrance, Todd. “How’s it going?” I ask just a shriek of terror and hell demand attention in the background.
“Oh, great,” she replies sarcastically, the grind of her teeth giving her words a real edge. “I’m forty years old with two demon hooligans who don’t know their cup from a hand grenade, facking divorced, and currently living with our mom and dad—a man, by the way, who’s told my kids that they’ll find themselves at the bottom of the back creek bed if they interrupt his after-dinner personal time twice since my arrival.”
Yikes. Only Hank Baker could say something like that to his own grandchildren. Don’t get me wrong, he’s a good father and grandpa, but finesse definitely skipped his generation of Bakers.
“Okay, well, that’s…it’s… I’m sure it’ll be…” I sigh. “Shit. I’m sorry, Sam, but I’m pretty sure your life has just developed a kink for sucking balls right now.”
I cross the room to my desk and plop my ass into my swivel desk chair. I don’t know how long this conversation is going to last, but in the name of being fully supportive, I don’t want to get tired from standing.
And yes, I realize that makes me sound ninety years old, but my hips just don’t like that position, okay? I can sit, I can walk—I can even run short distances—but standing for more than two minutes at a time sends my hips into a spiral of shame and dismay.
Another screeching scream fills the silence, and she groans. “Tell me something I don’t know, Brooke.”
“The earth’s rotation has been getting faster lately by, like, a millisecond or something. So, I know the days are long, but technically, they are getting shorter.”
She snorts. “The fact that you know this makes it so, so obvious that you’re not living the life I am right now.”
I pick at the very corner of my lacquered IKEA desk that’s just starting to come apart, and I swallow all of my thoughts—about my ex Jamie and how I thought life would be, about the book that is ruining my life, about my unrelenting crush on my editor and the potential Netflix tour I’m in no way equipped to handle, and how I’m still lost as all hell, though definitely more in charge of my time. Because Sam is looking to vent, and I know the feeling well enough to let her.
No one likes a one-upper during story time. Especially when their one-up isn’t a one-up at all. Instead, I venture to lighten her mood with some humor—just a little.
“I also peed by myself and managed a shower today,” I tease, making her laugh.
“Whore.”
“I know, I know. But trust me,” I say, snapping the stretchy waistband of my sweatpants against my stomach, “not everyone is prepared to live a life of luxury like me.”
I can hear the slow creak of Sam’s childhood room door, and my nephews’ tiny voices go from boisterous to muffled.
“Wow. It’s like entering a sound booth.”
Sam laughs. “Yeah. They should be in bed by now, but Mom got them all hopped up on sugar.”
“What?” My jaw hits my knees. “Mom? Sugar before bedtime?”
“Oh yeah. Mom and Gammy are two very different people, Brookie. Gammy thinks cookies and milk solve everything. And Gammy tries to help all the time.” Sam lets out a groan that feels like it comes from her freaking toes. “If it weren’t for Dad yelling at her, I think she’d sneak sugar into their rooms in the middle of the night, too.”