Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 70607 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70607 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
She throws her head back and laughs. "Well, for one, two of those will probably get us thrown in jail." She brings her glass up to her lips.
"Well, where the hell are you going?" I ask, surprised at this whole announcement. "How long are you going for?"
"One week." She holds up her finger. "White water with blue sandy beaches." She laughs now. "Pina coladas by the chair in the pool." Her words are all messed up.
"Wait a second." I sit up, finally catching on. "You're going on your honeymoon?" I look over at her. "Alone."
"No." She giggles, and I know that she's drunk. "I'm not going alone, silly." She continues giggling and leans over and bops my nose. "I'm taking you with me."
I put my glass down on the table in front of me and look back at her. "I'm sorry, what the fuck is in this whiskey?" I inquire, and all she can do is giggle.
"I made all the arrangements last night," she tells me as if it's nothing. "One week all-expenses-paid vacation. With open bar." She holds up the glass of whiskey, shaking it left and right, and it spills out on her. She rubs it clean with her hand, and her white pants have brown stains on them.
"I can't go with you on your honeymoon," I say finally, and she just looks at me. "That would be so weird."
"Suit yourself." She gets up now, looking around. "I'm hungry." She sits back down, her eyes closing. I move to the edge of the couch as she lies down. "But if you change your mind, the plane leaves at seven."
Chapter 12
Shelby
"What the hell is in this thing?" I mumble to myself as I carry the big-ass suitcase down the stairs. I'm trying to be quiet, but the number of times I've stumbled should be in the world record book. I kick the luggage with my foot as I get down each step. "This is legit a workout," I huff when I get halfway down the steps and have to take a one-second break.
"I told you that you were overpacking last week when you packed it," Clarabella reminds me. "Every single time I said don't pack it, you just threw it in the luggage." I'm just thankful I brought my luggage here, not knowing what the fuck was going to happen.
I ignore her as I try to make it down the rest of the way, my hand sweating as I hold the handle. "This is a good idea?" I look down the steps and see my mother just watching me. She wears the white plush robe that she wore two nights ago that says Mother of the Bride, except she took a black Sharpie when we got home last night and crossed out the bride. "You think this is a good idea?" She tilts her head to the side to talk to Clarabella, then follows me down.
"It's a good idea, Mom," I mumble, ignoring my throbbing head. It feels like a jackhammer is going a million miles mixed in with a horn honking repeatedly.
"I don't know why you think this would be a good idea," she huffs, shaking her head with the coffee cup in her hand.
"I think this is a good idea," I say once I get down to the bottom of the stairs and push my luggage. The sound of the wheels rolling against the floor goes until it hits the wall right beside the front door.
"Is that bacon?" Clarabella says from behind me, sniffing the air. "Mom, did you make bacon?"
"Of course, I made bacon," she snorts like it was obvious.
"It's four o’clock in the morning," I huff, walking to the kitchen, and I can smell the bacon now.
"I cook when I'm stressed," my mother says, coming into the kitchen with us. I stop when I see a buffet of food sitting in the middle of the island. When I woke up on the couch, I sat up but immediately had to lay my head back on the cushion. When I was finally able to move without stumbling all over myself, I found the party going on in the event space. The music was going, and the six of them were dancing as if my wedding day didn't end in a fucking disaster. I walked to the bar, and that is where my memories start to fade in and out. I do remember eating a burger while sitting at the bar, but then my head and eyes suddenly got too heavy to keep up or open, so I took a nap in my plate with the burger clenched in my hand. "I had no idea what to do with myself."
"Cooking is always the right answer," Clarabella blurts when she pushes me to the side to get herself a plate. "Are there biscuits?"