Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 116177 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 581(@200wpm)___ 465(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116177 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 581(@200wpm)___ 465(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
We don’t even leave until tomorrow night.
Why am I fretting over this thing so much?
The raised voice of my mother coming from downstairs yanks me clean out of my thoughts. I squint and incline an ear toward my door, just to get a gist of what her latest explosion is about. I pick up a word here or there, a phrase, a glass slamming on the counter too hard, and then I hear Billy’s voice.
Oh, shit. He dropped the bomb on her.
I poke my head out of my room, peering over the railing and down into the living room. From this angle, I can’t quite see into the kitchen where they’re arguing, but I hear them clearly.
And horribly. “But I’m your mother-in-law!! How could you do this to me?? You know what I think of them McPhersons!! You know our horrid history!! Oh my GOD, Billy! Oh my GOD!”
“Mama, you’re way overreacting and you know it,” comes in my brother’s voice tiredly. They’ve been arguing for a while, it seems, and the argument only moved into the house from outside. “This isn’t the snobby Evans. This isn’t Marcy Whitman or her equally condescending husband. This is Cissy and Tim McPherson. The ones who actually did come to my wedding.”
“Yeah, just so they look good in front of—”
“Mama, when are you ever gonna give up this silly feud of yours with them?”
“It ain’t my silly feud! It’s them who’s the jerks!”
“You were doin’ so good for a few years, and then overnight, you decide you’ve gotta be the queen bee of Spruce all over again. Hell, with the Whitmans’ new house—”
“That gaudy piece a’ property …”
“—they’re closer to Fairview than Spruce anyway. Why can’t we just be civilized adults about all this? You’ll still highlight the dance the same as you did last year, and you’ll be—”
“And all because TJ works at Billy’s little dessert store??” she throws back. “That is the dumbest damned excuse for—”
“Mama, now you’re talkin’ about my husband’s pride and joy, and it isn’t even just that! Their house is bigger. They also have—”
“Yes, your husband’s dessert store, the one that I helped put on its feet with my funds, and now you’re stabbin’ me in the back! What’s next on our agenda? Are we no longer calling Nadine’s the number one romantic spot for prom night dinner? Are we handing over my Spruce chapter of PFLAG because—oh, I don’t know—Cissy Fucking McPherson decides she wants to run it, too?”
“Mama, for God’s sake …”
“Yes, that’s what I need a bit of right now. A bit of God. I need a Hail Mary and a Bloody one, too.” The stab of her heels carries her out of the house as my brother follows her out with a, “Mama, c’mon. Mama!” over and over.
Figuring the coast to be clear, I come the rest of the way down the stairs, but stop when I find Billy still in the kitchen, his arms crossed tightly, leaning against the fridge.
Billy looks up. His strained face softens at the sight of me. “Hey there, Jimmy.”
I give him a reluctant nod. “Hey, man.”
He takes a deep breath. “Well, in other news, I think your mother officially hates me.”
“Nah, stop with that nonsense. She can’t hate you. She isn’t capable of it even if she tried. She’s just … well …” I come up to the counter. “She’s goin’ through somethin’.”
“Yeah, I found out about the Cold Spoon. That doesn’t make this any easier.” Billy sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose.
I frown, flicking my eyes to his. “What about the Cold Spoon?”
“About it goin’ out of business, I already know.”
He says it so flippantly, the spear goes straight through my chest like cold lightning. My eyes avert to the chest of his loose plaid button-up, lost in a whirlwind of thoughts. The Cold Spoon was my mama’s baby for years—Spruce’s prized ice cream parlor. I remember hanging out there after school when I was just eight or nine, waiting for my mama to finish with the register before she’d leave the store to her workers and take me home.
“Oh, no,” murmurs Billy, staring at me as he realizes it. “You didn’t know.”
I play it off with a little nothing shrug. “Nah, I knew.”
Billy’s nothing if not smart and sharply observant. He pushes away from the fridge, crosses the kitchen, and stops in front of me with a knowing look. “She kept it to herself until one night when she kinda … slipped to Tanner. And Tanner, of course, told me. I thought our businesses were complementing each other, but … it seems like my business sort of stole hers, and now …” Billy sighs again and slaps hands to his face. “Ugh,” he mumbles through them. “I feel responsible for all of this. This is all my fault. Of course she’s mad at me, and she has every right.”