Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 131789 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 659(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131789 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 659(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
When Fenn lifts his empty bottle to signal for another, his dad waves off the waiter. Fenn narrows his eyes. “What, aren’t we celebrating?”
David spares a brief look at his son. “I think maybe you’ve celebrated enough.”
“I’m going to pop over to the restroom,” Mom says. She steps closer to brush lint off the lapel of my tux, lingering over me too long with glassy eyes. I hate it when she gets sentimental. Not my vibe. Especially when I’m being subjected to her fleeting whims of self-indulgent calamity. “You boys behave yourselves while I’m gone.”
Nope. I put my fucking foot down at being referred to collectively as her boys.
Once she’s gone, David hovers awkwardly, first checking his watch and then glancing at his phone. He scans the room as if searching for something requiring his urgent attention, but no such luck. He’s stuck with us, these two disenchanted youths waiting for him to walk away so we can get to the bottom of another bottle of champagne.
“So…” Man, he’s drowning. This is becoming embarrassing for all of us. “You two getting along? Getting to know each other?”
“You two getting to know each other?” Fenn shoots back.
I damn near do a double-take at the venom in his voice. For the past couple hours, Fenn’s been laid-back, easy to talk to. But maybe that easygoing attitude and quick grins are only reserved for people who aren’t his father.
His dad coughs and adjusts the buttons on his tux. “Yes, well. I know this was sudden—”
“Explosive diarrhea is sudden,” Fenn cuts in, his pale blue eyes going glacial. “You had time to order flower arrangements. Which means you had time to come to your senses.” He glances at me. “No offense.”
I just shrug. Hey, man. I’m a hapless bystander to this tornado.
“Listen, Fennelly. I understand—”
“I’m here, okay?” Fenn ices his dad out with a flat expression and dismissive tone and now I feel like I’m intruding in whatever bullshit they’ve got between them. “Let’s not pretend this whole thing isn’t a clusterfuck of selfishness.”
Every line and muscle on David’s face becomes strained. His resemblance to his son is striking. They’ve got the same build, the same ice-blue eyes and sandy hair. And David’s one of those dudes who barely ages. He could probably pass for Fenn’s older brother. Same way people always mistake my mom, with her long dark hair and flawless skin, for my older sister.
“Fennelly.” David sighs at his son. “Could you try, huh? Just a little? For a couple more hours.”
Fenn pulls out his phone to scroll through his texts. “Whatever.”
David’s attention shifts to me. I don’t know if he’s looking for sympathy or solidarity, but when I don’t offer either, he sets his jaw and disappears to check on the cake.
I don’t know what I think of David Bishop yet. As far as first impressions go, this isn’t a stellar start. Until a few hours ago, I didn’t think of him much at all. He was just the new random dude my mother was seeing who I didn’t ever expect to meet. Before Mom was suddenly dropping a set of department store cufflinks in my hand, I had no reason to believe this guy would be any different from the litany of other brief but intense relationships Mom cultivated and lost in quick succession. I stopped trying to connect or even remember their names a long time ago.
“Sorry,” Fenn says to me. “I guess that was awkward.”
He guesses? I snort out loud. “So you two are close.”
“Dude. Nothing says I forgot you’re still here like sending the jet at four o’clock for a six o’clock wedding. There was a tailor with a fucking sewing machine hemming my pants at thirty thousand feet.”
“Harsh.” I let out a breath. “I’d ask what your father’s intentions are with my mother, but I guess we’ve skipped right past that to do you want the top or bottom bunk?”
“Oh, fuck,” he says, sort of dry heaving in disgust. “I just realized your mom was probably a flight attendant on that plane. I probably jerked off in the same bathroom they banged in.”
“Jesus, Bishop. Keep your traumas to yourself, yeah?”
I’m gonna need a therapist after this goddamn wedding.
Fenn takes a swig from his flask. “So what’s your deal?”
“My deal?”
“Sure. What are you into? What do you do when not getting hijacked into shotgun weddings?”
“Don’t even joke.” If my mother tells me she’s pregnant, I’m hopping a train to the west coast.
The waiters come by to change the place settings. They pop a new bottle of some sweet-smelling dessert wine, which Fenn helps himself to tasting.
“You’re going to be a senior, too, right?” he pushes. “Where do you go to school?”
It’s a bit more complicated than that. “I don’t, technically.”
“Aw shit. You’re not one of those homeschool kids, are you?” He leans away from me as if just remembering we’d both had our lips on the same champagne bottles tonight. “You’ve had all your shots, right?”