Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 82524 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 413(@200wpm)___ 330(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82524 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 413(@200wpm)___ 330(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
What will become of us? How will we survive the inevitable?
I’m so lost in thought that I almost don’t notice the envelope. It’s placed on top of the paperwork Theodora gave me earlier. I frown, not sure how it got there. Nobody’s allowed in this room aside from me.
Slowly, I slip open the seal and reach inside.
There’s a photograph. It’s simple, in bright colors, shot on a telephoto lens. Slightly blurry, the proportions off.
My body goes numb staring at it.
The image is of a pretty young woman. Late twenties, blond hair, lovely figure. I taste salt and honey on my tongue, feel cold glass against my palms, hear her voice in my mind.
In the picture, the woman is sitting on a park bench beside a five-year-old girl.
The child is smiling. She’s got a juice box in her hands. The woman is leaning down like she’s about to help put the straw through the foil.
The little girl’s eyes are a cool, startling gray.
Like mist off an ocean breeze.
I stare at the image for a long time, my heart stuttering, my palms sweating.
My God.
Years. So many years. These two have been there, lurking in the background of every decision I’ve ever made.
Quiet, hidden away.
Safe.
But now?
Someone found them.
I crush the photograph with a snarl.
4
JUNE
“Here’s to the future!” Beth raises her glass and clinks it against mine. I laugh when a little wine spills over onto the table. I mop it up with a napkin before taking a big drink.
“The future,” I repeat, grinning madly.
Beth’s cheeks are flushed and happy. She looks good these days: hair dyed darker, cut to suit her better. More confident, brighter, outgoing. It amazes me, what she’s become since college.
“You ever thought we’d make it this far?” she asks, stabbing at her big slab of steak. She waves her fork at me. “Remember what you said when I first said we should give event planning a try?”
“I was very supportive,” I say primly.
“You told me that you’re too busy being a mom and there’s no way we’d ever make it work. Remember?”
“Sorry, I have temporary amnesia.”
“Convenient.” She takes a bite and groans. “God, that’s so good.”
We’re out at one of the best steakhouses in Philadelphia. It’s the kind of place I never in a million years imagined I’d ever step foot in. My existence has been diapers, strollers, and playdates, and it only feels like I’m finally coming up for air now that Hattie’s over five and going to preschool.
Everyone says being a single mother is hard.
But it’s even worse than anyone imagines.
There’s no time. Every waking moment is dedicated to Hattie, the love of my life, the best mistake I ever made. I’d do it all again in a heartbeat. That night, that hotel room. That man. I feel myself drifting toward him again, but brush the memories away. I don’t let myself think of Hattie’s father, though it’s hard not to remember him, not whenever I look into her eyes.
But even though she’s a miracle and perfect, she’s a freaking huge pain in my ass.
That’s kids.
At least Marnie offered to babysit tonight so Beth and I could celebrate three years of business together. Every Little Thing started out doing birthdays and now we’re on top of multiple weddings every weekend. It’s hard, a ton of work, but it’s extremely rewarding.
We reminisce about the old days getting started, the way Hattie was our mascot early on since I had to bring her everywhere, and how that seemed to win clients over. A real working mom with a cute baby? Amazing, we must be incredible!
Little did they know I rarely had clean underwear since I never had time to do wash and my apartment was a total wreck.
Things are better these days. Mostly, anyway. I bought a house six months back, a row home in a decent South Philly neighborhood, nothing special, but heaven as far as I’m concerned.
And all because of Beth and her crazy idea.
“By the way, you mentioned you had a job come through.” The waiter removes our plates and Beth asks for more wine and chocolate cake for dessert.
She tilts her head side to side. “It’s a weird one, honestly. I’m not sure you’ll like it.”
“What’s the deal?”
“Well, it’s a wedding, but everyone’s anonymous. Some lawyer reached out? A real fancy lady with a weird name. She said her client is extremely private, but she gave me lots of details, and the budget—“ Beth’s face lights up. “God, June, the budget. It’ll double our yearly income.”
“Are you serious?”
“I’m not kidding. I think it’s for some kind of movie star. Maybe a Saudi princess or whatever? Do they have princesses?”
“I don’t think they care about the girls over there.” I drum my fingers on the table. “Totally anonymous? Like we can’t meet with the bride and groom? That’s weird.”