Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 126425 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 632(@200wpm)___ 506(@250wpm)___ 421(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126425 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 632(@200wpm)___ 506(@250wpm)___ 421(@300wpm)
“Well,” Essie sighs, but not without a considerable amount of excitement. “Is everybody ready for day one? How did you sleep, Mom? Was the room OK, Dad?”
“Oh, honey…” And the gushing begins anew.
Can I excuse myself here so I can finally get a moment to think about my incredible date last night? Hmm. Was it a date? Not really. I didn’t ask Cordelia out. I just invited her, and her plus-one, to our living-room configuration.
But I like the idea that it wasn’t a date. That means our first date is ahead of us. A future event. Something to look forward to and relentlessly plan. I will make it perfect.
Rose-petal bathtub is a high bar. I need to exceed those expectations. Perhaps horseback riding on the beach? Hot air balloon over Napa Valley? Dare I say… a private plane to Maui?
Is that too much?
But really, what is the point of being worth forty-two million dollars if you can’t jet off to Maui with a date every now and then?
Still, it might overwhelm lovely Cordelia. She’s a sensitive soul. She needs something… calmer. The rose-petal bath really was perfect. She didn’t even have to stress about getting wet. And the scent of all those petals?
She will never forget that night.
Yeah. Top of my game. How do I go above and beyond after that?
Maybe I should just call it the first date?
“Steve!”
I turn to Essie. “What?”
“Are you even listening? I said I need to have a moment alone with you.” She makes wide eyes at me.
“Fine.”
She grabs my arm and starts pulling me away, while Mike—ever the content filler—begins a pointless dialogue with the parents to keep them occupied.
When Essie is satisfied that we’re far enough away from everyone, she stops. “Do you want me to mention you in the narrator panel or not?”
“Narrator panel?”
“Yeah. My panel? Ringing any bells here? Why are you so distracted?”
“I”—I raise my eyebrows at my twin, then toggle them up and down. A waggle, if you will—“had a date last night. With Cordelia.”
“Who?”
“Cynthia Lear.”
“Oh.” Essie smiles, then frowns a little. “That’s why I was hanging out with Britney. I woke up this morning feeling like she and I were BFF’s. But, honestly, I was pret-teee drunk last night. Did you know that her mother invented Skinny Lammies?”
“Laminx,” I correct her. “Skinny Laminx.”
Essie smiles. “Yeah. We had a nice time, I think. I don’t remember all of it, but I didn’t get home until three-thirty, so it must’ve been great.”
“How are you even awake right now?”
“Are you kidding me? When Mike and I were on a three-week reno deadline for that last trailer we bought we were staying up for days in a row. I’ve had lots of practice. Plus”—she holds up her white paper cup—“quadruple espresso and three shots of Red Bull.”
“Essie, that’s… gross.”
“I’ll be fine. I have one panel, then I’m gonna nap, then be back here at one for the second half. I’m getting used to this life, ya know?” She looks around, smiling, taking in the kingdom I bestowed upon her. There are a lot of people now, all chatting, and laughing and drinking their coffees. Then she sighs. “Yeah. I love being me.”
“Anyway.”
“Right. Narrator panel. It’s time, Steve.”
“For?”
“To… you know, be in the spotlight, at least a little. It’s not bad.”
“Are you implying that I’m afraid of the spotlight? Because if so, you’re wrong.”
“Then what is your hang-up about people knowing the real you?”
“Real me? Essie. Look around. Look at all these happy, beautiful people. Now imagine how they will feel if they should ever find out that you and I have been lying to them. Mostly you, Essie. They think you’re SS. If they find you’re a liar—sister, life will not be fun and you will stop loving it.”
“I’m not talking about that secret.” She looks around cautiously, then looks back at me. “I’m talking about the narrator thing. Why not offer yourself up?”
“As a narrator? I’m the writer, Essie.”
“Why not both?” She makes a big, full-arm shrug. When I don’t answer she says, “I’m gonna tell them it’s you. What do you think about that?”
“What do I think about that? I really don’t have feelings about it, it’s just… I don’t want to narrate books. I want to write books. That’s it. Just write. And I narrate my own books because who better than me? I’m kinda perfect at it.”
“I’m still gonna tell them. It’s a juicy secret. And if you don’t have feelings about it, then you don’t get a say.”
It’s in this moment when I spot my lovely Cordelia across the room. She and Britney are walking together, looking like an odd couple—Britney tall, lean, blonde, and my lovely Cordelia petite and studious-looking with her dark hair, and glasses, and serious expression. “Oh, my God, there she is.” I kinda moan these words out.