Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 108650 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 543(@200wpm)___ 435(@250wpm)___ 362(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108650 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 543(@200wpm)___ 435(@250wpm)___ 362(@300wpm)
The Michigan House is a lovely old hotel from the city’s mining heyday that now served as a restaurant, with a few vacation rentals upstairs. The ancient wooden bar sported a mural and tall columns, framing it like some kind of altar, and the patterned tile floor reminded me of the subway. Our party was in a dining room with mint-green walls, an impressive fireplace, and a ceiling festooned with plaster medallions. If not for the antique bric-a-brac all over the walls, it could have been a room from our London townhouse. Small round tables flanked the perimeter, and Rosie Green, who’d barely changed a day since high school, manned the one at the door. Voted “Friendliest” in our superlatives, she’d been the driving force behind the yearbook committee and all of the marching band fundraisers, so it was no surprise to see her heading up the sign-in tonight.
“Sophie Scaife!” she squealed, leaping out of her chair. “I can’t believe it! I saw you on the TV just the other day!”
“Hi.” I returned her hug awkwardly; we hadn’t been close friends in school, but apparently, absence had made her heart grow fonder. “How have you been?”
“Oh, you know. I’ve got the kids, and I’ve still got my Curves franchise.” She beamed proudly, and even though I’d had no clue that she owned an anything franchise, I smiled enthusiastically back. “Let’s get you a name tag!”
She peeled a sticker off a sheet, with “Sophie Scaife” neatly printed in block letters with a sharpie, and patted it onto my three-thousand-dollar silk dress before I could protest. She got another that said simply, “Spouse” and handed it to Neil to put on himself.
“Oh, and I forgot your superlative!” She grabbed a sheet of smaller labels and plucked “Most Tardies: Sophie Scaife” to affix just below my name.
“Most tardies? How very unlike you,” Neil said with a chuckle. I ignored him.
Rosie’s eyes grew wide at his voice. “You’re from England?”
“Yes?” Neil answered awkwardly. Seeing him struggle to understand why anyone would be impressed with his country of origin never failed to amuse me.
“Oh, wow.” Rosie was totally star struck. “That’s exciting.”
“Is it?” he asked, bewildered, and I squeezed his arm.
“I think I see Jessica Martin,” I said to excuse us. “I want to be sure to say hi to her.”
“Of course!” Rosie was distracted by the arrival of another couple, anyway, so I led Neil away.
“I should have prepared something for the England question,” Neil said ruefully. “I knew it would be coming.”
“And that won’t be the last time tonight. Unless Mike Anderson brings his German wife.” I waved across the room to Jessica, and she hurried toward me with her arms open.
“Good Lord,” Neil said, oblivious to her approach as he stared in horror at the top of an antique buffet. “Are those snowmen up there? In June?”
“Sophie, I’m so glad you came!” Jessica squealed. My high school best friend—one of them, anyway—folded her arms around me like it was the day after graduation and no time had passed at all. “I was worried you wouldn’t be able to.”
“Why wouldn’t I be able to?” Besides my crushing fear of inadequacy in comparison to my other classmates.
Jessica made the face she’d always made when she thought I was being stupid. “Um, big New York life, running a fashion magazine, being, like, a billionaire.”
“Right.” My face burned with embarrassment.
She stuck her hand out to Neil. “Jessica Martin. Sophie’s high school bestie. I even still have the friendship bracelet to prove it.”
“Oh, you do not,” I insisted as Neil took her hand and shook it.
“Neil Elwood. Sophie’s husband.” He gave her his charming half-smile and added, “No bracelet, I’m afraid.”
“The wedding ring counts for something.” Jessica had a big loud laugh that could fill up a room. Her hair was still as golden blonde as it had been in high school, but her highlights were a lot better now that we weren’t doing them in her bathroom hours before an important dance. She was still rocking the salon tan, though, and her teeth were perfectly straight from the braces she’d worn until sophomore year. She waggled her left hand at us, where a diamond sparkled on her finger. “Dan couldn’t come tonight. But look what he gave me for Christmas!”
“Shut up!” I grabbed her hand to admire the ring. “You didn’t post this on Facebook.”
“I can’t, right now. His stupid divorce still hasn’t gone through. The bitch is trying to take half the business, can you believe that?” she asked, as though I knew the entire backstory; in reality, it was a little hard to follow the drama on Facebook. To Neil, she explained, “My fiancé owns a Dodge and Jeep dealership in Green Bay.”
“And what do you do?” Neil asked.
“Pharma rep. I travel around Wisconsin giving away free pens to doctors’ offices.” She rolled her eyes then reached into her purse. “Here, have one for…Celexa.”