Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 85399 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 427(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85399 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 427(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
After all, my husband has decided what he’s doing with his life.
It’s time for me to make a few choices too.
CHAPTER ONE
LAUREN
Two and a half years later . . .
I’m not funny, Billie. I’m mean and people think I’m joking.”
My best friend throws her head back and laughs. I want to point out that she’s making my point for me—she thinks I’m joking and I’m not. Instead, I stand in the middle of my home office with my hands on my hips and residue from a powdered doughnut on my lips.
“You are not mean,” she says, rolling her eyes. “Stop it.”
“No, trust me—I was mean. I-meant-it mean. He didn’t even have the wherewithal to ask me for my driver’s license.” My nose wrinkles in disgust. “Who doesn’t card a woman buying wine? Isn’t that a law? I don’t care if I’m clearly over forty or not. It’s just rude.”
She grins. “You must’ve not been too mean. He asked for your number.”
I swipe an armful of bubble roll off my desk. “He wasn’t serious.”
“Um, I think he was. Younger men and older women are a thing right now. And, let’s face it, you’re hot. All that gym time is showing.”
“Calling him a ‘man’ is way too generous. He was barely old enough to sell me the alcohol. Hell, I could’ve been his mother.”
“So?”
“So, what would I do with that?” I ask, the thought of dealing with a twentysomething’s bullshit exhausting me. “If I was in the market for a boy toy, which I am most definitely not, I wouldn’t choose someone without basic manners. Besides, there’s not a teeny-tiny part of my soul that has any interest whatsoever in raising another man.”
If Billie notices the extra energy that I use to stuff the Bubble Wrap into the appropriate bin, she doesn’t mention it. And that’s the thing I love most about Billie Wickerson. She knows when to let things go. Unlike me. I hold on to topics—ideas, kindergarten finger paint projects, people—for way too long.
Containers and packing material litter the floor. A stack of cardboard sits neatly by the door, since Billie took extra effort and broke down our empty boxes. She said something about recycling and it being good for the environment. I replied with something about being low on time and wanting to get it out of my sight. I appreciate her environmental activism, but as a mother and new small-business owner, I have priorities. That list includes keeping my two teenagers alive and healthy, corralling my business that exploded overnight, and keeping our house clean enough so that if child protective services comes knocking, they won’t gasp in horror.
I have to worry about the teens. Someone else is going to have to worry about the trees.
“Did you see the video Maddie posted last night?” I ask.
Billie smashes another box flat. “No. I was putting together a proposal for work because I spent yesterday immersed in CrimeTok instead of doing what I get paid to do for eight hours a day.”
“That sounds like a good use of your time.”
“Hey, if you want to get away with a crime, I’m your girl.”
I laugh.
“I mean it,” she says, shrugging. “First, don’t take out a life insurance policy or change any dollar amounts. Big red flag. Huge. Game over right there.” She points at me. “Two, leave your phone at home. Three, never, ever use bleach. Peroxide is a better choice. And four, if you have to put them in a lake, puncture the lungs so they don’t float—”
“Oh, my gosh. Enough.” My face screws up as I continue to chuckle. “I’m concerned that you know all of this.”
“Be concerned now. But if you need help, you know where to find me.” Her bright-blue eyes sparkle with mischief. “Now, tell me about Maddie’s video.”
Right. “I was working late last night. Couldn’t sleep. I have this custom order that will never end. This woman sent me a literal wardrobe box full of pictures, mementos—and thirteen feathers—that she wants me to scrapbook. I can’t even wrap my brain around all of this, let alone get it into some semblance of a story. I close my eyes at night and see silver feathers and pine needles.”
“Weird.”
“Tell me about it.” I pause to take a quick drink. “Anyway, Maddie always records as she walks in on me working. It’s kind of her thing now. All of her videos start that way. So, she comes through the door just as I’m tugging on this package of a thousand tiny buttons. It opens and they go flying—I mean flying—across the room. My jaw drops, and some of them fly into my mouth and I start choking.”
Billie laughs.
“It was a whole thing. As I was trying not to asphyxiate, Mads put the video to music, posted it on my social pages, and we woke up to over one hundred thousand views this morning.”