Total pages in book: 161
Estimated words: 154890 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 774(@200wpm)___ 620(@250wpm)___ 516(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 154890 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 774(@200wpm)___ 620(@250wpm)___ 516(@300wpm)
“He would’ve been easier,” Heather mutters. “A white sheet, sandals, and a stick-on beard. Sadly, no one ever requests JC. Hello, Mimi,” she tags on before trudging in the direction of the kitchen.
“I thought you were done with dressing up,” I call after her. She waves her hand without turning, signifying an answer is either unwarranted or that she can’t be arsed.
“Don’t get her started.” Archer, Heather’s husband, appears at the end of the hallway with his faithful mutt, Elvis, trotting alongside him. “Or she’ll bang on for an hour about the feckless nature of theater kids and why hiring them always causes her grief. Who’s this, then?” he tags on, spotting Mimi. Despite his friendly tone and mild expression, I find myself bristling. Archer used to be a model, though he denies it whenever the topic comes up. And while I haven’t exactly got a face like a bag full of smashed hammers, Archer has cheekbones you can hang your shirt on. More to the point, women blush and fall over themselves when he’s near.
“This is Mimi,” I say. “She’s covering for Jody while she’s on maternity leave.”
“Ah.” So many meanings in that one tiny sound. I suppose it was too much to expect Heather not to tell him. “Nice to meet you.” Before Archer can proffer his hand, Mimi hunkers down to lavish the dog in a greeting.
“And who do we have here?” she says in an adorable baby voice.
“This is Elvis,” Archer beams.
“You are such a handsome boy.”
Archer’s gaze meets mine, thoroughly won over, but also amused. Elvis is anything but handsome. He’s got a head like a masonry brick that’s far too big for the foundation and is getting on in years, hence the gray muzzle. And don’t get me started on his slobbery death breath.
“Oh my!” One minute, Mimi is on her heels; the next, she’s on her arse and the recipient of Elvis’s doggy halitosis. “I love you, too!”
“Elvis, get off.” Archer hauls the mutt back by his pink collar.
“Should we open champagne?” Heather suddenly appears behind Archer. “To welcome Mimi to the family. I think it’s the least we can do, given she’s been tongued by two members of it.”
29
MIMI
“Your father would be turning in his grave!” Polly exclaims, passing Whit another bottle of French red for him to open.
Just when I think my cheeks have begun to return to their natural color, Polly’s expression sets me off again. My sides hurt from laughing, and if I were wearing mascara, I’d look like a panda right about now. This family is hilarious and irreverent and silly and just so darned lovely! And oh, man. The thing that Heather said about me being tongued? I don’t know which of us was most embarrassed. She totally didn’t mean it that way, not that it stopped everyone else from rolling around laughing.
“Given Dad was cremated, do you reckon that would make him a snow globe,” Brin asks, glancing across the table to El.
“Whatever will Mimi think of us!” Polly says, throwing up her hands. Not just for theatrics, because she also throws a little beef Ambrosius’s way.
“No table scraps,” Heather complains.
“Darling, I can’t give one without the other,” she retorts as she slips Elvis a little beef under the table.
“Elvis likes to sit next to the weakest link,” Heather says, leaning into me. She’s no longer dressed as Tinker Bell but in black pants and a chambray shirt, her red hair tumbling about her shoulders. She runs the children’s side of a large event company that caters mainly to the offspring of the rich’s party needs. These days, she only dresses up as Tinker Bell, a pirate, or a Disney princess when there are staff shortages, she explained. She’s still hanging out for Jesus. “Wherever we go, I watch the four-legged fiend, weighing up who is most likely to be taken in by his puppy dog eyes.”
“Rheumy, more like,” Whit mutters from across the table. Despite my request that he not sit next to me or across from me, there he is! Polly sits at the head of the table to my left, and Whit is seated to her other side. “Though, with Elvis, it’s probably more like who can I hypnotize with his halitosis.”
“You leave my baby alone!”
“I thought I was your baby?” Archer says, popping a roast potato into his mouth.
“No, you’re my husbot,” she says reasonably.
“That’s not what you called me last night.”
“Archer.” Whit draws out his brother-in-law’s name in a groan. “I really don’t want to hear what goes on in my sister’s private life.”
“Oh, but it’s okay to keep upcasting mine?” Polly complains.
“Yes, because people who fornicate in glass houses…”
“Once! It only happened once in the greenhouse!”
“Once was enough,” Brin says with a full-body shudder. His eyes catch mine. “Should I be thankful she still had her gardening gloves on?”