Total pages in book: 133
Estimated words: 129986 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 650(@200wpm)___ 520(@250wpm)___ 433(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129986 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 650(@200wpm)___ 520(@250wpm)___ 433(@300wpm)
We watch The Talented Mr. Ripley next, and as the credits roll, Mom says, “That’s what I never did. I should have pulled off a heist.”
I crack a smile and look over at her. “Hey, there’s still time. I go to school with plenty of rich assholes we could rob if you need help finding a target,” I joke.
Mom cracks a smile, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “I know you don’t want to,” she says, looking down at her lap, “but there are some practical things we need to talk about, Aubrey.”
I pluck the sunglasses off my head and put them on the end table between the couch and Mom’s trusty recliner. “Not while we’re on vacation. Where should we go next weekend? We could stick with Italy but get more specific—maybe Rome on Saturday, Venice on Sunday? I’d like to see Rome and stop by the Trevi Fountain. Or we could hop the train to Paris. There’s this restaurant inside the train station in Paris that Janie was telling me is really good. I looked around a bit and found a recipe for their mashed potatoes. I can look at the menu and find something else I can cook. We can binge Emily in Paris, and I can order one of those Amazon experiences, maybe a walking tour of the city, or I think we can tour the Eiffel Tower. Personally, I think I can kick ass at French cuisine, so I’m down if you are.”
“That sounds nice,” she says, her tone a bit subdued by my dedication to changing the subject.
“It’s decided, then.” Pushing up off the couch, I add, “I’m going to check on the gelato.”
Mom sighs but makes no further attempts to ruin our night with ugly reality.
Chapter two
Aubrey
We’re on night two of Italy—more delicious pasta, but tiramisu for dessert. Tonight, we watch Under the Tuscan Sun and Letters to Juliet.
I am mentally and physically exhausted, but I still have to clean up after dinner. Mom offers to help, but of course, I tell her no and take care of everything myself.
She’s tired, too, so we call it a night.
Mom goes to sleep, while I unpack my book bag and set my textbooks and notebooks in stacks across my queen-sized mattress. Lunch was especially noisy today and I couldn’t concentrate, so I didn’t get the head start I usually get.
My phone lights up on the bed beside me. My gaze flickers to it, my brow creasing as I see a new text message and who it’s from.
Jane Sebold, an old friend of mine from school.
Before my entire life tore apart at the seams and it fell on me to single-handedly hold the pieces together, I used to hang out with Janie all the time. We were best friends, and I know she was hurt when I had to take a step back, but I could only spread myself so thin before I couldn’t even hold myself together anymore. Something had to give, and unfortunately, it was Janie that needed me the least.
I think about her often, especially when I see her at school, but we don’t talk much anymore. I can’t even remember the last time she sent me a text message.
Grabbing the phone, I touch the screen to brighten it so I can read her message without sliding it open. It’s just one line: What are you doing?
In general, or right this moment?
I slide the message open so I can type back. “Homework. You?”
“Still?” she texts back. “God, you must have got a late start.”
“Yeah, I was doing stuff with my mom,” I type back.
“Oh, sure. How is she doing?”
“Pretty much the same. Just taking things one day at a time. How have you been?”
“I’m good,” she texts back. “Really good tonight. I’m actually at this really cool party and I was wondering if you’d want to meet me here. We haven’t hung out in a while, and I’m sure you could use a break for some fun.”
I’m torn. It would be nice to see Janie again and hang out like old times, but I’m so tired. Plus, if I go over there I’ll be around other people. That means I have to shower again as soon as I get home, and just thinking about doing all of that when I’m already exhausted…
I text back, “I wish I could, but it’s late and I still have a ton of homework to do.”
“It is Friday,” she points out. “The homework isn’t due until Monday. You can always do it over the weekend.”
She knows I like to get my homework out of the way on Friday night so I don’t have to think about school again until Monday, but it’s not just that. Since most of my weekend time is already set aside to work and hang out with my mom, I also need to get some sleep over the weekend. That’s when I catch up so I can function throughout the week. I’m always worn down by Friday night.