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)
I was right. It was a mistake. Kissing her and having this date that isn’t really a date, especially since we both had to sweat over it for a week because Sunday to Saturday night is a long ass time. It’s not really a date if my mom is there and Nanny arranged it, but it’s still enough of a date that it feels like a date.
Taking her to my mom’s house would be the worst thing I could do. So why can’t I just stop her, apologize properly because I feel horrible and hate that she’s hurt, and let her go? No. Instead, I run after her and dodge around her, blocking her path like an asshole. “I puked,” I blurt out. Yeah, so sexy and romantic. Exactly what she wanted to hear.
Her eyes widen, and she looks around and over her shoulder as if looking for the evidence.
“At Nanny’s,” I clarify. “Before I left.”
She frowns, and her hand snakes out, smacking me square in the forehead. She gasps. “Shit! I’m sorry.” Her palm flattens out, nice and cool against my clammy skin. I’m warm. Hot. Jesus, I think I’ve sweated through my dress shirt on the ride over here, even with the AC going on full blast. I close my eyes just a fraction. Just for a second, as her hand switches to the back and grazes my forehead again, I feel safe. “You’re not fevered. Are you sick?”
If I have any shot of salvaging this, I owe her the truth, or at least as much of it as I can tell her. “No. Just…terrified. There are things that…things that I don’t want to get into from…before. Family stuff. I haven’t had the best relationship with my mom since I was sixteen, and I never talked to my dad again after I left. I can’t explain it now, and I shouldn’t have let Nanny talk us into this, but I’m…floundering here, and it’s not right to ask you to save me or bring you as a sort of buffer against my mom. Maybe that makes me a coward, but even if this were just a regular family dinner, I’d still want you to come. I don’t know why I kissed you. I really don’t. I just wanted to, and I did it. I guess I ran because I panicked. I don’t want my sister to hate me. I truly don’t. I don’t want anyone to hate me. I don’t want you to hate me.”
She blinks, lowering her hand. It hovers there, in midair, like she wants to take mine, but then she clasps it in front of her dress, hiding it in the flowy yellow fabric. “Why would kissing me make me hate you?”
“I don’t know. Because things are complicated, and I think I might be cursed?”
“I don’t think that kind of thing rubs off with a single kiss.”
How wrong you probably are. “If you want to go back inside, that’s fine. I understand. But please don’t stop coming to Nanny’s because of me. That would break her heart. Anyway, I’m so sorry. I’m just going to go now.”
“To the dinner?”
I nod. “I have to face it sometime.” I still haven’t given her a real answer to most of her questions. “I came back because I want a relationship with my family.” That sounds so hard to admit, and I don’t know why. Maybe because I’m afraid I sound like an imbecile. “I’ve pretty much shot it all to hell, but I wanted to see if anything could be salvaged.”
“And now you don’t want to go. To your mom’s.”
“No, because it’s complicated. But also yes, I mean, because I miss my mom, even if things are the way they are.”
Remi’s eyes rake over me. “You look like you’re going to throw up right now.”
That’s probably an accurate assessment. I feel terrible. Why won’t the sun just relent? Why am I still sweating so badly? Why did brushing my teeth and chewing on a few sticks of gum on the way over here not erase the bitterness at the back of my tongue? Why is my empty stomach still rebelling?
“Do you want to come in for a minute?” She’s not mad or annoyed now. She’s sweet and gentle, utterly guileless. Vulnerable and open. I don’t know how she can stand to be that way when it feels like it’s going to kill me. “I can get you some water and a fresh shirt. We’ll go to Nanny’s, so you can change before we go to your mom’s.”
“You still want to come with me?” I gape at her. “Or you will, even if you don’t want to?”
She gives me this look that says she’s not exasperated even though she should be because there’s something I’ve failed to comprehend. It’s like I’m the only one in the world that hasn’t gotten it yet, and I still have no idea what it is. “Yes. I’ll go with you. Text your mom and tell her we’ve run into some bad traffic. Or that it started snowing. Wait, uh, no, that’s really not believable. Throw me under the bus and tell her that I took forever to get ready, which made us late, and I’m terribly sorry.”