Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 86495 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 432(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86495 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 432(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
I suddenly need air, mouthfuls of it. I need out of this room before all the love I’ve bottled up comes bursting out of me in a primal wail.
I’m up and moving, aware a second too late that I’m still naked from last night. I yank the sheet off the bed, trying to wrap it around myself, but those people in movies must be better at this than I am, because it just gets tangled and my boobs are still out there for the world to see.
I curse under my breath and yank the sheet again, trying to dislodge it from the mattress once and for all.
I’m aware of Aiden repeating my name, trying to get through to me, but I’m on a mission.
His hand touches my arm and I jump away from him, holding up my palm as if to say, Don’t come any closer, buddy.
“Can you stop for one second? I want you to come with me to New York. I want us to be together.”
“What?”
“Don’t act so surprised. Of course I want us to be together. I want you to be my girlfriend. My partner, Maddie. Come to New York with me.”
Right then, a fist knocks softly on the door. “Aiden? Are you awake? I think we should talk.”
It’s James.
“Not a good time!” Aiden shouts back.
The doorknob starts to turn and I scream, scrambling with the sheet tangled around my legs so I can make it to the bathroom before James fully opens the door.
Aiden’s faster than I am, though. He makes it to the door in time to slam it closed before James sees anything.
“Not now, you idiot!”
“You behaved like a lunatic last night! We need to talk.”
“Not. Now.”
“Fine. Meet me in the kitchen.”
I don’t hear the rest of their conversation because I’m rushing back to my room. There, sitting on the edge of my bed, is my sister with her arms crossed.
Great. Just fucking great.
“I hope you’re happy” is the first thing she says to me.
If Jolie and James were our parents, we’d be grounded. The gist of the very long talk I have to endure is that she’s very disappointed in the decisions I made last night and she expects better of me and wants me to realize that my actions reflect back on her.
OH GOOD GRIEF. Just get out of my room so I can get dressed and get some coffee and process the fact that Aiden asked me to move to freaking New York City with him.
I tune into her long diatribe again when she says, “I’d like you to call the restaurant today and apologize.”
Jolie, I’d like you to exit stage left, but we can’t always get what we want.
I placate her with lots of nodding and deferential hums of agreement before she finally exhausts herself and leaves me alone.
I have my first real moment to process how I feel and…I have no clue. None whatsoever. My stomach is tight with anxiety, but I can’t forget that little painting Aiden gifted me a moment ago. It’s Christmas morning and I woke up next to Aiden. Santa really delivered this year.
I pull out red gingham pajamas from my suitcase and some cozy socks. There’s a knock from the bathroom door, and I turn to see Aiden standing in the doorframe, unable to wipe the smile off his face.
“We’re in trouble,” he teases.
I feign worry. “We’re definitely getting coal in our stockings this year.”
“Worse, probably. James is ‘deeply disappointed in me’.”
“Oh dear.”
“Yeah, I bet they didn’t even leave us any breakfast.”
“We can make our own.”
“Let’s finish our talk later, okay?”
I nod in agreement, glad he’s not pushing the subject right now.
The day isn’t all that bad. Sure, Jolie and James are a little standoffish in the morning, but I wear them down with lots and lots of baked goods.
“Has anyone seen the sugar?!”
“You just had it,” my sister says from the couch. It’s early evening and everyone is piled in the living room watching Christmas movies. I’m in the kitchen and I have no plans to leave. I’ve got a gingerbread house cooking in the oven. On the cooling rack, there are two dozen cranberry and white chocolate cookies. I’ve got a cake going in the mixer and some eggnog heating up on the stove. The house smells like the aftermath of a candle factory explosion.
“How am I supposed to make sugar cookies without sugar?!”
“Do we need sugar cookies?” my sister asks gently.
I pop up from where I’ve been rooting through the bottom cupboards and shoot her an annoyed glare.
“It’s Christmas, Jolie.”
The sentiment is clear: Stop being a Grinch!
Baking has mostly kept my mind off of Aiden’s invitation. When he joins me in the kitchen every now and then, he doesn’t try to bring it up again, but it still sits heavy in my mind.