Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 74730 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 374(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74730 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 374(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
Campbell (age 15)
Campbell—
I don’t know? Maybe you can ask her yourself? I don’t give a flying fuck. She was lucky I took her at all. I had to turn down at least eight other girls and two of them don’t even go to my school. Anyway, her number is 561-555-7583 if you want to be a weirdo and stick your nose where it doesn’t belong.
Slade (age 16)
Slade—
WOW. You actually gave me her real number. I thought it was going to be some pizza place or something. She’s actually really sweet. And she told me what a douche you were to her all night. Congratulations on ruining a nice girl’s junior prom by showing up plastered off liquor you stole from your parents and then puking on her shoes. Hope it was worth it.
Campbell (age 15)
Campbell—
WOW. You actually called her? And you’d drink too if you had to marry you in nine years.
Slade (age 16)
Slade—
I hope you didn’t strain that big beautiful brain of yours too hard coming up with that lame response.
Campbell (age 15)
13
Campbell
“I hope you don’t mind if we make one more stop?” Delia rests a delicate hand over her decolletage in the back of her chauffeured Rolls. We’ve been going nonstop since she picked me up this morning … starting with manicures and pedicures then a massage and facial and the most heavenly lunch at The Breakers. I’m smooth and shiny and full and ready for a nap and I have no idea how this woman is still going, but I’m not ready for this day to end either.
“Of course not,” I say. “I’m still in if you are.”
She squeezes my hand and smiles. “That’s the spirit. Broderick, can you please take us to Worth Avenue?”
Her driver nods and switches lanes.
“I should text Slade and let him know you’ll be home a little later than expected,” she says.
“I don’t think he’ll care either way …”
Delia cocks her head. “Really?”
I laugh. “Yeah. Why would he?”
She squints, as if she’s confused. “Because the man adores you, that’s why. I feel awful stealing you away from him when you’re only in town for a few days.”
Slade … adores … me?
I swallow my shock and put on my best poker face.
The Slade I know—the only Slade I’ve ever known—loathes me.
The man sent me literal hate mail for almost twenty years straight …
Delia fires off a text, her glossy red nails clicking against her screen, before sliding her phone back in her crocodile Birkin.
“Communication is key,” she tells me. “That’s the secret to a successful marriage. That and being able to apologize when you’re wrong.”
Broderick slows to a stop as we approach a row of shops with colorful awnings and chic window displays. He parks in front of the one with the baby blue door and the cursive font on the glass that spells out the phrase All Things Precious but in French.
“I realize I’m a little bit ahead of the ball here, but I thought since we were out, we could pick out a few baby things?” Delia says as Broderick opens her door.
Slade and I haven’t even held hands and she’s wanting to go baby shopping?
I don’t want to ruin this lovely day, so I smile and pretend to be enthused as we head inside.
We’re greeted with a blast of ice-cold air that smells faintly of baby powder and lavender. Racks of tiny clothes and shelves of books and stuffed animals fill every square inch of the space while music box lullabies play on low volume.
Delia makes a beeline for the newborn rack, immediately reaching for a white linen onesie covered in tiny giraffes.
“Isn’t this darling?” She grabs another one. “They have it in pink and blue, too.”
“Y-yeah,” I stammer. “You don’t think we should wait? I don’t want to jinx anything …”
“Sweetheart, the two of you are going to have a baby at some point—naturally or otherwise. And baby clothes don’t expire,” she says with an amused chuckle. “No harm in putting a few little things in your proverbial hope chest.”
Making her way to another newborn rack, she selects a floral pajama set as well as a blue gingham button down and a yellow polka dot sleep sack.
“Ah,” she squeals. “I feel like I’ve been waiting my whole life to shop for a grandbaby. I just can’t wait a second longer. I hope you don’t mind …”
“Not at all.” I force a smile, following her around like a lost puppy. I can’t bring myself to touch anything here. Not yet. It doesn’t feel right. It feels too soon, which is ironic since there’s a very real chance that this time next year I could be pregnant.
“Is anything catching your eye, darling?” she asks after handing an armful of clothes to the shop attendant to set aside. “Whatever you like, just place it in the pile by the register. It’s my treat.”