Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 97548 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97548 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
291-555-2700: I’m pretty sure that’s what you love about me.
This guy is proof that evolution can go in reverse.
I don’t respond. Rather, I sit and look at the phone and thumb through all the previous text messages and the emails that Matthew and I have exchanged in the past few days. A few of them even make me chuckle. One of them makes me cringe.
Boy do I sound like a bitter bitch.
And here’s something I don’t get – and you might be wondering the same thing yourself: why is he sending me messages? I grab my pen and start tapping it on the table, a nervous habit I picked up when I first began my Master’s thesis (which doesn’t compare to my friend Sylvia, who started smoking cigars when she started hers).
291-555-2700: knock knock.
I roll my eyes before responding: Who’s there?
291-555-2700: See? Now you’re catching on!
Me: OMG would you finish the joke?!
291-555-2700: I can’t. There IS no joke.
Me: I don’t have time for this.
291-555-2700: Yeah, I’m pretty sure you do…
Me: Um…….
291-555-2700: Gotta go. TTYL
Wait. What?
CHAPTER 7
MATTHEW
“If it makes you feel any better, I don’t have a favorite child. You both annoy the crap out of me equally.”
– Clayton Wakefield
I’m not sure what is possessing me, but I cannot make myself stop sending messages to Cecelia. Sure, at first I was doing it simply to piss her off and get a rise out of her – which, honestly - is super easy. The real bonus here is that Molly had her email me – that itself was like a Christmas gift, all wrapped in a tidy bow, dropping into my lap for my very own personal amusement.
At first it was entertaining. Then it became fun. Something to look forward to.
And now…
It’s kind of becoming a ‘thing.’
I absentmindedly fiddle with the tab on the top of my beer can and lean against the counter in my parent’s kitchen, watching my mom put the last plate in the cabinet after unloading the dishwasher from the family dinner we all just shared. And yes, before you jump to conclusions and climb up my ass about just standing around doing nothing – I helped. Actually, I’m the one who loaded the damn thing.
It was my job growing up, and one I still do whenever I pop in.
The aluminum can tab makes a hollow ‘ping’- one that’s loud enough to cause my mom to glance over her shoulder.
“Everything okay sweetie?” she asks, shutting the cupboard door and turning to face me with a look on her face that only a mom makes.
I scrunch up my brow, instantly annoyed as Molly flounces into the kitchen carrying what’s left of the taco dip tray. She narrows her eyes at us; so suspicious, that one…
“What are you two talking about?” she immediately wants to know, setting the tray on the counter and running the sink.
Jeez she’s nosey.
Mom gives me a knowing look and gives Molly’s shoulder a little squeeze. “Nothing. I was just asking your brother how he’s been.” She winks at me and I roll my eyes – she thinks she’s so sly when we were talking about nothing.
“Oh reallyyyy,” Molly smirks, dragging out the word before crossing her arms in a defensive pose, and makes a loud ‘pfft’ sound (which is just short of snorting). “Did he happen to mention he’s been harassing my roommate?”
My mom’s head rears back a tad, surprised, and she cocks her head as she studies me anew with narrowed eyes at this information. It’s a move that runs in our family, and is meant to be intimidating. “Do tell.”
Before I can get any words out, my dad walks into the kitchen, Weston nipping at his heels.
Great, an audience.
Just fucking great.
Weston looks at me, looks at Molly with her arms crossed, and at our mom who’s still glaring at me suspiciously.
“What’s going on in here?” He asks cautiously, like a dog that’s been kicked a few times but still wants a treat.
“Nothing that’s any of your business,” I shoot back, sounding nastier than I probably should.
“Matthew!” Molly scolds, and moves forward to peck her boyfriend on the lips. “Don’t mind him. He’s just pissed because I told Mom he’s stalking CeCe.”
Weston’s eyebrows shoot up, but for once he’s smart enough not to open his big mouth. Instead he grabs a chip out of a nearby bowl, and drags it through the taco dip tray, even though it’s been in the sink with running water.
Disgusting.
And to think: my sister kisses that mouth.
Still, if I’m going down, he’s coming down with me.
I point to Weston and casually add, “Yeah, but he’s the one who gave me her phone number.” I grab an apple out of the fruit bowl, and take a big bite, chewing slowly but crunching loudly.
“You blackmailed me!” Weston shoots back cautiously.
“Dude, please. It hardly took any convincing.” I snort and take a drag of beer.