Total pages in book: 150
Estimated words: 148434 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 742(@200wpm)___ 594(@250wpm)___ 495(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 148434 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 742(@200wpm)___ 594(@250wpm)___ 495(@300wpm)
“Philly or NYC?” Aunt Daisy wags her brows. “I wager fifty chocolate chips on Philly.”
“New York,” my mom rebuts.
We look to Aunt Lily. Her eyes are drawn to the cutout window in the treehouse. “Did he look cold?”
My mom glares. “No. Your husband wasn’t even carrying blankets. He just wanted to worm his way up here like he always does.”
Truth: 9 times out of 10, Uncle Loren will find a way to either pull Lily away or become a part of the PJ party. He might also be the biggest gossip queen of us all, so I don’t even mind the addition.
“Maybe he misses me,” Lily says pensively, tugging her long gray tee over her gangly knees.
“You saw him five minutes ago,” my mom retorts like her younger sister is losing her mind. She glances at Aunt Daisy. “What are you doing? No phones.” She steals her cell.
Daisy just shrugs, not minding. Blonde hair and arresting green eyes, her cotton shirt has a graphic of two hugging avocados, and she wears a pair of matching boxers. “Ryke wants us to let him know when we leave, so that we don’t have another…situation.”
Situation is a kind word for all of us getting plastered last November and Aunt Lily falling down the third step of the ladder.
She face-planted in a pile of leaves and sprained her wrist.
“We don’t need his help,” my mom snaps. “We are perfectly capable of leaving this treehouse on our own.” She refills glasses of wine, set on an overturned box, and she checks the amount of beer left in my bottle.
I’m nursing the same one.
The wedding binder weighs on my lap, and I flip through a couple pages. I’ve already exhaustively talked their ear off about the event planning. So I just silently skim the pages and smile, beyond excited to talk to more vendors tomorrow.
With Maximoff and Farrow’s happiness attached to this event, I find each minute spent crunching numbers and making calls that much more rewarding.
I turn to the location page, and my lips downturn. “The saddest part of being trapped in Scotland is that Maximoff and Farrow will never choose it as their wedding location. It’s cursed. So now we’re back to ground zero.”
Daisy raises her brows. “Your binder is overflowing. That doesn’t look like ground zero.”
Lily nods. “You’ve got a lot of stuff going on there.” She scoops a handful of M&Ms from the snack bowl.
My mom has a coy smile as she passes around full wine glasses to her sisters. “You’ve enjoyed planning their wedding.” She doesn’t phrase this like a question.
“Of course.” I run a finger over the possible guest list (still to be refined). “Must be the Rose Calloway Cobalt gene in me. Planning and organizing.”
She sends me a pointed look like I am so wrong. “You do know that I planned Lily’s wedding, and I despised every second of it.”
My mouth falls.
I knew she organized Lily’s wedding, which eventually became her own wedding to my dad when Aunt Lily and Uncle Loren decided not to marry that soon. But I always thought my mom loved the planning process.
“But…you’re…” You.
“My gremlin.” She gives me a look. “Do you really believe I’d have a good time calling florists, venues, and delegating out every last inch of a party? No, that you got from your father.”
I’m intrigued. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that I’m more like him and a little less like you.”
“You’re not more like him.” She sounds resolute. Definitive. “He’s hardly the type to celebrate love, let alone organize a party around the concept—unless it involves the very few people he does love.”
Lily nods in agreement. “Your big, overwhelming heart comes from your mom.”
Into a sip of wine, my mom says, “Even though mine is hidden behind a layer of ice.”
So I’m a bit of both. My mom and my dad.
The knowledge warms me like the feeling you receive when you finish a very good book. I flip another page and skim my fingertips over tablecloth samples, stapled in the binder.
My mom watches me. “Have you given thought to your passion?”
I look up with a bright smile. “Yes. I’ve realized I don’t need one.” I explain my epiphany that I had in Scotland, and they all seem happy until I add, “Once the holidays are over, I’m going to ask Dad to work at Cobalt Inc. in the finance department. I’ll enjoy it there for a while, then I’ll bounce around to another place to help the family.”
Daisy chugs her wine.
“You don’t need a passion,” my mom agrees. “You never have, but Jane…” Her yellow-greens drill into me like I’m missing a glaring sign smack-dab in front of my nose.
“I don’t…understand.” I frown.
“Tu as déjà trouvé ta passion. Regarde.” You’ve already found your passion. Look.
I follow her eyes to the binder on my lap.