Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 95173 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95173 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
“Are you dead?” she asks me. “I’ve been calling you since eight.”
“A.m.?” I ask her, sitting on the toilet and kicking off my pants. “When did you become a farmer?”
She laughs, and I hear water running in the background. “Please, I’ve already made breakfast and put lunch in the oven.”
“What time is it?” I ask, confused and then put her on speakerphone while I wash my hands and face and then brush the cotton balls from my mouth.
“Almost noon,” she says. “So how was last night?”
“It was okay,” I say, trying not to say anything more, but she’s Karrie. “He asked me to go with him to the SPCA gala next weekend.”
“Are you going to go?” she asks me, and then the water shuts off.
“Yes,” I say to her and then take off my blouse from last night and then pick up my phone and walk to the kitchen to start my coffee. She doesn’t say anything. “I’m going to stop doing this after the gala.”
“What do you mean?”
“I have to stop being friends with him,” I tell her, closing my eyes, and my heart breaks just knowing that it’s coming. “It’s just I thought I could handle it, but I can’t. I want him.”
“You know you could have him,” she says softly.
“It’s not fair to him. He is going to want marriage and kids and all that traditional stuff. How does this happen?”
“How does what happen?” she asks, laughing.
“How does the one person who hates commitment sleep with a man who only wants a commitment?”
“Opposites attract,” she says. “What are you going to wear?”
“My champagne silk gown,” I tell her and wait for her to gasp.
“The one that you bought ‘for the next biggest milestone of your life.’” She imitates me. When I saw it hanging on the hanger in the store, I knew I was going to buy it, but I didn’t have a reason for it. So I said the next biggest milestone in my life I was going to wear this dress. But it’s been two years, and there hasn’t been anything big in my life.
“I don’t need to hear it right now,” I tell her, grabbing my coffee and phone and going back to my bedroom. “What I need is for you to not make a big deal about it, and,” I say softly, “for you to come over on Sunday and hold my hand.”
“Done,” she says, “And done. I’ll bring all the cheesecake and croissants for us. With all the wine and tequila in the world.”
“Perfect, and then from then on, no more Mark. I won’t answer his texts,” I tell her, and then I say, “What if he wants to ask about Elsa?”
“Give him Elsa back,” she says, and I gasp.
“I can’t just give her back!” I shriek. “I just got her pink glow in the dark rocks.” She laughs so hard. “I have to go now. I forgot to feed her,” I say, disconnecting.
The rest of the week goes by slowly. Mark texts me on Thursday to tell me he’s going to pick me up at seven. I know that he’s on the road, and they lost both games.
Saturday comes, and for the whole day, I have stomach pains. My stomach goes up and down and flip flops all around, and I know I’m just nervous. But I don’t know if I’m nervous about seeing him, or the fact that I know after tonight, I won’t be talking to him anymore. I can’t be friends with him. I spent Thursday on Pinterest finding pictures of him on fan pages. I can’t go on like this. I also check Page Six and all the hockey gossip pages I know to see if anyone had “spotted” him with someone, and I’ve come up empty, which isn’t a surprise since he’s never been on those sites before.
I slip into the gown and pull it over my shoulder and zip the side and look at myself. The gown is sleeveless, and the champagne satin comes up to my neck. The side looks like it’s folded over, pushing in my waist and having the extra material fall on the sides to the floor like a cascading waterfall of sorts. I slip on my gold shoes and then put on my pearl and diamond earrings with the matching ring. I look at myself and put my hand on my stomach and then finally put on the bracelet that I never thought I would wear again, the pink quartz one. As I grab the matching purse and stick my lipstick and ID inside, the sound of knocking makes me look up. I grab my purse and my shawl and make my way to the door. I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t this.
He stands there in a black tuxedo looking like he stepped out of a magazine ad. His hair perfectly pushed back, and his beard trimmed. His eyes light up when he sees me, and it takes him a second to say anything. “You just …” he says, and I smile and do a turn, showing him that there is no back to the dress, the skirt twirling between my legs. “I can lend you my coat,” he says, and I laugh at him.