Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 98485 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 394(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98485 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 394(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
Perfect, except for the fact that I don’t think I can get Stassi into my car unless I kidnap her and throw her in the back.
But that’s a small obstacle. The book thing was a failure. It felt wrong, forced, like I was trying too hard. The note didn’t get any response, either. Put it all together, and I bet she thinks I’m coming on too strong.
Then again, this might be just what I need—an opportunity to get a captive audience in Stassi and show her that I’m no longer that asshole she remembers.
“Of course, I’ll be there.” I smile.
“Wonderful.” She hugs me again. “1 pm sharp!”
“I’ll be there.”
“Can’t wait!” She claps again, bouncing up and down on her toes. The little woman always had more energy than she seemed to know what to do with. “With Stassi?”
I nod, thinking, Maybe. I’m not sure if I can work that miracle unless it involves duct tape.
But I’ll sure as hell give it the old college try.
17
Stassi
I sniff the air, sure something’s burning.
Then I crack the door to the oven and check on the cakes for my whoopie pies, my contribution to our Sunday family dinner. The light’s broken, and the old contraption never heats evenly, so it’s always a crapshoot whether anything made inside it will be baked well.
They’re still wet, which is good, and I’ve got plenty of time before I have to leave.
I let out a sigh of relief and check the recipe. It’s not a new one for me, and it’s just my family, but for some reason, I’m nervous. I’ve been walking on eggshells around them for the past year ever since my engagement ended. It’s something I’ve told them time and time again that I don’t want to talk about, and yet, they keep insisting. They know Mason cheated, and I called off the wedding. But that’s literally all they know. And it’s not that there’s more to it—I just don’t see the point in hashing it out, digesting it, or trying to pick it apart. Anymore, though, I get the feeling they think I’ve gone off the deep end.
Maybe I have.
I’m not the girl I was a year ago, the one who had it all together. Great job. Great apartment in Manhattan. Loving fiancé who couldn’t wait to marry me in a beautiful wedding we’d planned at his grandmother’s place in Amagansett.
Of course I was happy when we were together, I was none the wiser.
And naturally, I’ve been hurting since everything fell apart.
But I’m still here. Still kicking.
Except even a year later, I can’t go a few days without one of my family members calling me, asking if I’m okay as if I’m recovering from major surgery. Before, I used to love family catchups. But anymore, more often than not, I don’t respond to their texts, and I let their calls go straight to voicemail.
As I’m debating whether to call my mother back—she’s called me three times this morning, so something must be up—the phone rings again.
Make that four.
This time, bracing myself, I answer. “Hi, Mom. What’s up?”
“Oh, hi, honey.” her voice is perpetually as bright and cheery as a sunny summer day. “Were you out earlier?”
“Yeah, I um, went for a run …” I lie, since she always seems disappointed that I no longer keep up with my exercise schedule.
“A run? Outside? It’s twelve degrees. You need to be careful—”
“There’s a treadmill at Ted’s,” I blurt, which is just about as dumb as saying I went to the gym. There are no gyms around here other than the sorry excuse for one in the basement-slash-laundry room of my quad, and Ted’s about the unhealthiest person you can imagine, evidenced by the cup of lard he uses to grease every pizza pan.
“Oh, that’s nice. Speaking of neighbors, that’s why I was calling you.”
My stomach drops. She couldn’t have. My mother never goes anywhere unless it’s grocery shopping at Shaw’s.
“Why didn’t you tell me that Alec had moved in right next to you?” she asks.
“What difference does it make?” I play it as casual as I can.
“What difference does it make? You know Alec was part of the family. I had no idea he’d come back and moved in right next to you. I had to find out from your brother.”
“It must have slipped my mind,” I fib again—Alec has been running laps in my mind like he owns the place. “I get the sense he’s pretty busy, working at the hospital. I only ran into him once …”
“Well, I wanted to make sure to call you so that whatever dessert you make for tomorrow, you make extra.”
My belly nose-dives again. “You invited him to Sunday dinner?”
“Of course. I ran into him in Shaw’s while I was shopping for the food, and I couldn’t not. He’s so grown-up. So handsome. A real MD. And here is the best part …”