Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 67465 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 337(@200wpm)___ 270(@250wpm)___ 225(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67465 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 337(@200wpm)___ 270(@250wpm)___ 225(@300wpm)
A sheen of moisture forms in her eyes, but she stubbornly blinks it away. Nanny is leading Kimmy to the table. I can smell her perfume, something expensive and intricate, vanilla and oranges, some spices, and a flower mixed in, maybe? She’s immaculate, and she’s wearing a freaking all-black power suit and towering heels while her hair is piled up in one heck of a tight twist. She looks like she’s ready to be on TV at some political conference, conquering the world.
Then, when she spots me, her nostrils flare, and she grimaces like she just smelled a big dung pile, and no, it’s not Curly Cookie, who’s sitting at her feet, wagging his tail. It’s me, and that’s the same old Kimmy I’ve gotten used to since I got back. The one who despises me. I think if it were any other way, I’d be worried. At least right now.
She’s here. Remi worked her magic, and Kimmy listened. Now it’s up to us to do the rest. A new determination settles over me. Not grim, but hopeful. My heart is still beating hard enough to choke me, but I can get through this without passing out. Look at my mom. Look at how strong she is. I can at least be half that strong.
“Let’s get it over with before I stick a kebab skewer up your arse and roast you on the barbeque outside.” Kimmy snarls. “A dash of lemon and some peppers, mushrooms, and zucchini should set off your nasty flavor quite nicely.”
“Kimmy, behave.” Nanny chuckles. “What kind of gravy would you pair with it, dear?”
Kimmy frowns, but I see the way her eyes sparkle with love when she looks at Nanny. “I don’t know. Suggestions?”
“Definitely au jus. Dipping sauce. Or a marinade. Not a gravy at all.” Nanny winks. “We have to keep our options open.” Bless Nanny, I know she’s not talking about gravy at all.
Kimmy sits down in the chair across from me, mostly because Nanny is on the one end, my mom is on the other, and Curly Cookie is sitting all curly, rusted-haired, and proud in the chair between Nanny and me, which makes up all the chairs my mom brought to the table. Five chairs. That chair could have been Remi’s. She offered to come if I needed her, but she also understood that this meeting was family time. Not that she’s not family. It wasn’t about that. She’s like a sister to Kimmy, like another daughter to my mom, another granddaughter to Nanny, and…definitely not anything close to that to me.
When I told her that maybe we should have this dinner with just the four of us, she kissed my forehead, told me that Kimmy had agreed to it over cheesecake, and then showed me just how talented she was with her…hmm, alright. A gentleman never kisses and tells, but I will say we had to be quiet because her parents were in the living room watching TV, and I had to sneak in through her window in the first place. Until we’re officially dating, she doesn’t really want them to know that we’ve been not-so-officially dating.
Now that we’re all seated, and the smell of roast beef is still coming from the oven, cooking away but not ready yet, my mom gives each one of us a slow, lingering, loving look. “Are we all ready?” She gets three nods in response and one pink tongue wag. Curly Cookie’s breath smells like bacon treats, and it wafts over me as he pants.
“Kimmy? Do you promise to behave?” Nanny prods, nudging Kimmy under the table with her foot. I can tell she does it because Kimmy jerks in her seat.
“Yes,” Kimmy mutters, the word scraping out of her like it’s torture. “But only because I promised Remi I would.” Her eyes track over to me. “For some inexplicable reason, she thinks she’s fond of you, Van, and I don’t want to break her heart. She’s like my sister and bestie, all wrapped up into one. She thinks she owes me, but really I owe her because of all the people who have abandoned me in life—people who should have been my friends, guys who ran because they couldn’t hack it, teachers who hated me for being smarter than them, people who didn’t even know me yet decided they didn’t like me because I’m ‘too much,’ and brothers who abandoned me—she’s always stuck by me.”
“Brother. As far as I know, I’m the only one. I mean…shit. That came out wrong.” I look at my mom nervously, but she hasn’t taken offense. She is rather pale now and also green around the edges. I feel the same way. Like my stomach is full of rocks, and they are not digesting well. I’ve felt that way for days and days. For years and years. Ever since I turned sixteen.