Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 111165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 556(@200wpm)___ 445(@250wpm)___ 371(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 556(@200wpm)___ 445(@250wpm)___ 371(@300wpm)
Fuck, I wish I wasn’t driving right now, that I could just pull the car over to the shoulder and bring her into my arms.
“So she calls me,” she goes on when she’s calmed a bit, “just before you came to get me. And she tells me that it’s my turn and my responsibility to take care of him again and I can’t. I can’t Laz, I just can’t. I know that makes me a terrible fucking daughter but I’m still so angry at him. For everything. It’s not getting better, every day it gets worse for the both of us. I feel like I’m…I’m drowning and there’s no one to save me. I can’t even save myself.”
“Your dad…” I start to say, then change my mind. “First of all, your aunt shouldn’t be calling you like this. If she can help out, she should and not involve you in every step of the way.”
“But she’s my mother’s sister, so obviously she’s harboring a lot of resentment too. And what is she going to do? Someone has to take care of him when he’s like this. He can’t do it by himself. He’s drinking himself to death. He won’t feed the cat. He won’t eat. He won’t clean. I…” She closes her eyes and takes in long deep breaths through her nose. I know she does this when she’s trying to ward off a panic attack. I don’t say a word, I just keep holding her hand. I want to ask again if I should turn the car around and head back but I think that will only make her feel guilty.
Finally, she opens her eyes again and looks at me. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. I asked.”
“I know. But you don’t want to hear my sob story, especially before a date.”
“You know I’ll hear all your sob stories, anytime, anywhere.”
She swallows, nods slightly. Then straightens up in her seat. “Tell me something nice.”
My mouth quirks up into a wane smile. “You look gorgeous.”
“Even though I probably have mascara running down my face?”
“You look gorgeous,” I repeat, squeezing her hand with each word’s beat. “Extremely…bee-utiful.”
She giggles. I fucking love that sound.
“You better bee-lieve it,” I add, egging her on. “Because I bee-lieve in you.”
“Oh, stop.”
“I can’t. You’re just so bee-coming tonight, I might bee coming on you afterward.”
“Oh my god!” she shrieks, her face going beet red. “You didn’t just say that.”
“Bee—”
“Don’t say it!”
“—lieve it.”
She groans. I know I’m being silly and cheesy as all hell but at least it has her smiling. I’ll do anything for that smile.
When we get to Mr. Chow, just off of Wilshire Blvd., she’s back to her usual good spirits. The valet takes the car gleefully, a fan of vintage Camaros, and I take Marina’s hand, holding it tight as we walk into the restaurant.
I’ve never been to this place before but it’s pretty much what I expect. It’s busy, the tablecloths and walls are all white, there are lots of people waiting for a table, dressed to the nines, and everyone seems to know each other.
Luckily, the man at the front isn’t snobby in the slightest, neither are any of the waitstaff. We’re seated in a nice corner spot across from someone I recognize as a movie producer with his very young wife or girlfriend.
“I think I see Jennifer Aniston,” Marina whispers over her expensive martini, staring at the entrance.
“Look at you, all star-struck even though you’ve lived in LA for how long now?”
“Hey, if you don’t get star-struck by people every now and then, what’s the point in living? I’m not going to pretend to be too cool for school.”
“Neither am I. But the people I see in LA are rarely the ones I care about. All mine are in New York, or back in England.”
“That’s because all your idols are musicians.”
“If I was ever lucky enough to meet David Gahan or Jimmy Page or Tom Waits or Nick Cave, then yeah, I would be star struck.”
“I would love to see that,” she says, giving me a small smile. “See Mr. Cool lose his cool.”
“Mr. Cool?” I laugh. “You must have short-term memory because yesterday I completely lost my shit. Not one of my finest moments, I must say.”
“I don’t know,” she says rather coyly, “something good came out of it.”
My skin feels impossibly warm at that.
She didn’t regret the kiss.
Thank fucking god.
“Excuse me,” a voice says to the right of me.
I tear my eyes away from Marina and look up to see a stunning brunette with golden tanned skin and a mega-watt smile that she’s directing at me, dressed in a chic black dress that shows off her legs.
I glance quickly at Marina to see if maybe she recognizes her and actually it seems like she does. She’s wide-eyed and curious as she stares at her.