Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 75424 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75424 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
“Without talking to him about it,” Harlow says, “or making sure this is what he wants.”
My lips part, but no words come out, just a faint squeak that does nothing to make my case. Finally, I shake my head and pull my knees in, “Can we not talk about this anymore? I need to give my brain and eyeballs a rest.”
“Of course.” Jess puts her arm around my shoulders, giving me one of her signature stiff and awkward, but still perfect hugs. “Want to change into our soft pants and watch the drag makeover show?”
I nod. “Yes, please. Especially the soft pants. These jeans are dumb.”
“Speaking of dumb, I have to head out to another study session,” Harlow says, rising to her feet. “Dingus and Dongus are having trouble understanding what they need to do for the group project. Are you two going to be okay until I get back?”
“We’ll be fine,” Jess says with a firm nod. “But please get ice cream on the way home. I have a feeling we’re going to need ice cream once the chocolate runs out.”
I nod and reach for a caramel truffle with a sniff. “Yes, we’re definitely going to need ice cream. And maybe dill-flavored pickle chips? And peanut butter pretzels?”
Harlow’s upper lip curls, but she gives a weak thumbs-up. “Got it. And I’ll pick up some antacid, too, just in case.” She turns to go but spins back before she’s taken a step. “I love you guys.”
“We love you, too,” Jess says.
I nod my agreement, seeing as my mouth is still full of caramel.
“You’re the best people I know,” Harlow continues in a rare show of squishy feelings. “And I know you’re going to find happily ever after someday. You’re too good not to. And the good guys are going to win in the end. No matter how cynical I can be, sometimes, I believe that. I really do.”
Her words echo in my head as I change into sweatpants and a t-shirt and snuggle with Jess on the couch, watching ten gorgeous men dressed as women lip-sync their hearts out to see who will advance to the next round. I hope she’s right, and I hope Ian finds an amazing new girlfriend wherever he ends up next.
No matter how much it hurts to imagine him with someone else, he deserves a wonderful woman who realizes how special he is, that he isn’t just a famous athlete, but an all-around incredible human being.
In between episodes, while Jess is fetching tea to calm our stomachs before Harlow returns with more junk food, I close my eyes and send out a silent wish for Ian’s happiness.
And for mine.
But the universe is clearly not in the mood to do me any favors, at least not when it comes to my well-being.
No sooner has my wish left my brain than my cell dings with a message from Derrick—Have you made your decision about tomorrow? Dad texted me a few minutes ago to ask if he should eat lunch before we take him out since “you two always pick places with tiny-ass portions.” Honestly, he’d probably be as happy as a clam if I just drop off his paving stones and order pizza for him before I leave. So don’t feel like you have to come.
Pulling in a breath, I search my heart, a little shocked to find that I actually want to see my dad. I want to see him through my new, bolder Evie lens and maybe even talk to him about some of the hard things in our past.
Maybe, if we clear the air, we can move on from our old patterns and find a better way to be family. And if not, at least I can say I tried my best to keep my father in my life.
I want to come, I reply. What time should I be ready? Eight? Nine?
Derrick says he’ll pick me up at nine and Jess and I return to our drag queen binge. Harlow returns in time for the start of the fourth episode and Cam rolls in smelling of delicious restaurant smells not long after. We all crowd onto the couch, sharing our snacks the way we did when we were kids and for now it’s enough to soothe my savaged heart.
I know there will be more pain to face tomorrow, but this is what’s best for Ian. There’s no doubt in my mind about that and that’s what I’ll hold on to if he calls or stops by before he leaves next week. I’ll remember how much I love him and want good things for him and stand firm, even if it hurts.
But the night melts into morning and there isn’t a single text from Ian, not so much as a “got your note” or “message received.”