Total pages in book: 126
Estimated words: 122030 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122030 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
“Seriously. What’s the occasion?” I ask, pouring myself a glass of champagne because, well, can’t let it go to waste. And I’m not sitting through forced family time sober. “Long trip just for lunch. Come to announce the divorce?”
“Hardly,” Dad says cheerfully, reaching for Michelle’s hand. “Like Michelle said, we were eager to see you boys.”
“I missed you,” she says, smiling at RJ. “I can’t get over how different you look.”
“Swimming.” He shyly leans away when she tries to brush his hair back. “We’re in the gym a lot.”
“He’s being modest,” I pipe up. “Don’t want the leader of an underground fighting ring and organized crime syndicate going soft.”
He kicks me under the table, but I don’t spill a drop of my champagne.
“You’re not still getting into fights?” Michelle says, frowning at her son.
RJ shoots me a glare.
“I think he’s pulling your chain,” Dad interjects.
I wink at my stepmom. “Officially, the faculty stopped making the students fight in the pit after that freshman slipped into a coma. But then things happen, right?”
David and Michelle force a laugh because we’re all having such a great time. The appetizers arrive, and I help myself to a crostino of prosciutto and fig. Then I drain my glass and help myself to more champagne.
The mood is shit, and half a bottle deep into the entrees, it hasn’t improved. Michelle is now telling some inane story of her book club with the other well-kept women of the neighborhood. For a single mom who’d carted her son around from city to city for years, she seems to be fitting right in with the Greenwich crowd. Of course, the likelier option is that her new “friends” are smiling to her face during book club and calling her a gold digger behind her back. Rich ladies are nothing if not predictable.
“For weeks we’ve been discussing this novel that everyone absolutely hates,” she says through a barely contained laugh. “Totally loaded on wine and ripping it to shreds.”
My champagne glass has mysteriously gone empty. But when I reach for the bottle, David pushes it out of reach. Doesn’t matter—RJ hasn’t touched his, so I annex it for myself in a hostile takeover. My dad notices and frowns at me. I ignore him.
“Then, finally, someone notices Shelby hasn’t said a word all afternoon. Well, Claire, because she’s Claire, sloshing a glass of red wine everywhere and nearly spilling it all over the Turkish rug she never shuts up about, she actually throws—I don’t know what it was, a hard candy maybe?—at Shelby and demands to know why she’s being so quiet.”
Yes, Shelby. Please. Speak your truth, sister.
“Shelby’s face turns this bright strawberry red, and then with a look of abject horror that honestly frightened me, she slaps her hands over her mouth. Now I’ve been a flight attendant for a long time, so I know that look. I push my chair way back just as bright green liquid spews through her fingers is all directions. Shelby spent the week on some cleanse, drinking nothing but kale juice four times a day. Until she burst all over the room. So now, Claire is on her knees, drunk and sobbing, because her Turkish rug is completely ruined.”
RJ snickers.
“Shelby texted me last night with a screenshot of the cleaning invoice Claire emailed her. Five thousand dollars.” Michelle’s eyes go wide. “Can you believe it’s costing five grand to clean a damned rug?”
“You should have seen the cleaning bill Lawson’s dad got after his last party in the Hamptons,” I say helpfully. “Just getting all the semen out of the pool cost, like, two grand.”
“Fenn,” Dad growls.
RJ is now laughing into his napkin. “Dude,” he sputters.
“What?” I blink innocently.
To my approval, Michelle looks like she’s also fighting back laughter. Stepmommy has a sense of humor, at least.
Dad clears his throat. “Fenn, why don’t you fill us in on how soccer’s going?”
I nudge RJ. “Want to see something hilarious? Hey, Dad, what’s the offside rule?”
“Fenn.” My father levels me with a warning scowl.
“What? I’ve played soccer since I was six years old. Surely you’ve picked up something by now from all the games you’ve attended.”
“Fenn,” RJ murmurs, clearly tired of my shit. “Stop.”
“Oh, wait.” I reach the bottom of another glass and hold it out to Michelle. “Would you be so kind?”
“I think you’ve had enough,” Dad says, touching her arm before she can top me up.
“Spoilsport.” I look back at Michelle. “So, in twelve years, you know how many times he’s seen me play? Guess. This’ll be fun.”
“Enough, Fennelly.” Dad wipes his mouth and drops his napkin on the table hard enough to shake our empty glasses.
“Oh,” Michelle says brightly, as if she’s suddenly solved the issue of world hunger. “Why don’t we take a walk, buddy?”
RJ is already pushing his chair back. “Awesome idea.”