Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 66289 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 331(@200wpm)___ 265(@250wpm)___ 221(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66289 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 331(@200wpm)___ 265(@250wpm)___ 221(@300wpm)
“Did you try courier pigeon-ing the invite?” Talon asks. I told him on our first date that she lives on a technology-free commune. His dig is brilliant.
My aunt shoots him a dirty look before turning away and opting to ignore him.
I jab him in the ribs.
I should have warned him about Aunt Liz’s non-existent sense of humor.
At least now he knows.
“So this is where you grew up?” he asks as we stop in the foyer. He leans down to examine the vast array of Lauren’s photos that litter the marble console table against the wall. “Why aren’t there any pictures of you?”
I chuff. “Because they’re probably trying to erase those years from their memory.”
“Why would they want to do that?”
“Because I was their worst nightmare.”
He begins to say something, probably wanting me to elaborate, when Uncle Michael rounds the corner, hands on his hips.
“Irie,” he says. “Good to see you.”
He doesn’t mean it.
That’s the thing about people like him. They say and do things they never mean all of the time because they think it makes them look better. They’re always covering up their ugly souls with good deeds.
I never asked for them to take me in.
They wanted to look like saints to their congregation, like pillars to their community. Not to mention, Aunt Elizabeth always wanted more children but after Lauren, it just never happened for them. I think she had visions of dressing us like twins and showing off her beautiful, perfect china doll daughters to all of her friends at the Iron Cross Country Club.
Only none of that happened.
Lauren and I fought like, well, siblings.
And I was never the sweet, angelic niece she envisioned.
I was opinionated and sardonic and wise beyond my years—a trait thrust upon me from years of living on a commune where curfews and structure were never a thing and autonomy began by age five.
She wanted so badly to shape me into the person she wanted me to be.
Unfortunately that only worked with Lauren, who came equipped with a born-to-please-gene from birth.
“And who’s your friend?” Uncle Michael says.
“This is my boyfriend,” I say, swallowing the lump in my throat, one that takes me back to my senior year. “Talon, this is my uncle Michael.”
They shake hands, Michael making an obvious attempt to size him up despite the fact that Talon towers over him.
“Dad, come on, we’re waiting for you,” Lauren says from the doorway. She doesn’t so much as give me a simple greeting. “Oh, my goodness, Aunt Bette!”
She wraps her arms around Bette’s shoulders, squeezing tight as if to make it look like they have such a close, wonderful bond even though we all know the truth.
“Thank you so much for coming,” she says before letting her go and turning to me. “Irie.”
“Lauren,” I say without missing a beat.
“I’m surprised you’re able to miss class to come here,” she says. “I hate the idea of you falling behind just to come to my wedding …”
“It’s spring break. And I wouldn’t miss this for the world,” I say with a faux smile that shuts her up. I’m perfectly capable of taking the high road, even if she isn’t.
Her gaze travels to Talon next, and she inhales a sharp breath, her eyes widening before averting.
I know that look.
She finds him attractive …
“Lauren, this is my boyfriend, Talon,” I say, hooking my arm into his and splaying my other hand across his steely chest.
Lauren clears her throat, too nervous in his presence to utter a single respectable response.
“Come on, Dad.” Lauren straightens her shoulders, suddenly pretending like we’re not there anymore. “They need you in the next room.”
I don’t know what they could possibly need him for right now. It’s not like they’re cutting a cake or lighting fireworks. I imagine she’s jealous that his attention isn’t solely on her tonight.
Sometimes I think he wanted to be a father figure to me.
Other times I think he felt guilty, like he was abandoning his own daughter if he gave me too much of his time or energy. Regardless, it’s in the past now.
I don’t need a father figure anymore and I don’t need him.
“Talon, if you wouldn’t mind taking those bags to the guest room for us, that’d be great,” Uncle Michael says, speaking to him but looking at me. “Come join us in the family room when you’re done.”
“Of course,” Talon says.
As soon as my uncle leaves, I slide my arm into his and lead him down the hallway, to the main floor guest suite that was once my teenage bedroom. I walk ahead when we get closer, grabbing the door for him.
It’s been almost four years since I set foot in here, but if I’m lucky, Liz has done a full remodel and the place will hardly be recognizable.
But the second I flip the light switch, my hopes are dashed.