Total pages in book: 31
Estimated words: 28341 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 142(@200wpm)___ 113(@250wpm)___ 94(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 28341 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 142(@200wpm)___ 113(@250wpm)___ 94(@300wpm)
“None of us have kids!” I groan. “Can you please just drop it? This is Caroline’s day—”
“I will let it go for now,” Paula assures me. “We need to celebrate the successes and not focus on the failures, right?”
If I stay there any longer, I know I'm bound to start screaming. Even though it hurts me to realize, I know it’s best if I leave. Without me there to trigger her, she will behave enough to get through the meal. I don’t want to leave, it feels like defeat and like I’m letting Caroline down. However, I hope that she can find it in herself to understand that I’m doing what I think is best for everyone.
At least I haven’t placed my entrée order yet. Standing up, I put some cash down on the table to cover my drinks and some of the appetizers. “Well, I should get going. You ladies have a lovely time,” I announce. My sisters sound off in a symphony of polite efforts to get me to stay. I give them a little shrug but make sure to squeeze Caroline before hurrying off; I don’t so much as glance our mother’s way before I leave.
Even though we have been sitting outside, walking through the restaurant and stepping out onto the sidewalk on the other side of the building, I feel like I can finally breathe. Being around Paula is the equivalent of being launched into space. Terrifying, directionless, completely out of your control, and a true vacuum.
I stop at a food truck to get myself something to eat, as I'm actually starved from the day. It’s only as I start eating my sandwich that I remember my appointment with Emanuel. Pulling out my phone, I check the time and start walking that way. At least there’s enough time left for me to take my time and get there on foot.
After I throw the wrapper away and start chewing a piece of spearmint gum, my phone buzzes. Much to my disdain, it’s my mother’s contact lighting up my phone. I want to ignore it, and maybe I should— but I can’t help but worry it’s a call that something had gone wrong at the restaurant. Foolishly, I hit the answer button.
The phone isn’t even to my ear before she is yelling. “I hope you’re happy!” she hisses. “You completely ruined your sister’s appetite. You know, Wren, this is supposed to be about her but you made it about yourself when you left the way you did. You and I may not see eye to eye, but I just told you I would let it go. But because of your dramatics, Caroline has left in tears! I hope you can live with yourself, knowing the pain you’ve caused today.”
My mind can’t even process everything she is saying enough to have an emotion about it. She hangs up. I keep walking and try and breathe through it. Much to my dismay, tears are building up in my eyes. I don’t want to give her that. I don’t want to let her win. It’s her fault that there was drama at dinner! Why can’t I shake this feeling though? Why do I feel like it is my fault Caroline is crying? Damnit, I can’t walk into this shop crying…
Chapter Four
Emanuel
It feels dirty how excited I am for the appointment— and yet that only sends another little thrill through me. Never before would I have thought something feeling wrong could be so titillating. Even though I know I tell myself to remain aloof and professional, just seeing her again feels like enough. Maybe that’s pathetic, and maybe it should bother me that it most likely is. Yet, I can’t find it in myself to care. It’s a private little joy, and I don’t think I should feel ashamed of it.
The door chimes and I step out from the fitting area to greet her. However, before words can form on my lips, I notice just how upset she looks. Even though there aren’t tears rolling down her cheeks yet, it she seems like she’s close to it. And in spite of this, it seems, Wren holds her head high and keeps her body language neutral.
“Do you happen to have anymore of the champagne from earlier?” she asks, her voice softer than it had been earlier in the day.
I hedge for a second. While I don’t typically believe in throwing gas on a fire, something tells me this isn’t the case. And despite the champagne being reserved for the shopping portion of the EFRON experience, she sure looks like she needs a drink right about now. “Yes. One moment,” I tell her and then pivot to walk into a small kitchenette. I grab a bottle, pop the cork, and walk out with two flutes in my hand. Hell, might as well have a drink myself too. Right? Wouldn’t want the champagne to go to waste.