Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 81375 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 407(@200wpm)___ 326(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81375 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 407(@200wpm)___ 326(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
This tiny little place probably still costs an insane amount of money.
No wonder the owners rent it out when they’re not here.
After sinking lower and lower into the mire of my thoughts and sorrows all day long and coming no closer to figuring out how to make anything better with Luca, or how to phone my dad and confess what a disaster of a shit pie I’d baked this into, I decided the only thing to do was to get takeout.
I’m a wreck. There’s no way I’m going anywhere, and there are only so many peanut butter and jam sandwiches and apples I can choke down.
I probably should have done more substantial grocery shopping when I got here. Or yesterday, when I bought those cherries and rhubarb.
There’s a shop fifteen minutes away on a small lake that boasts twenty-eight-inch pizzas. Yes, two feet. Four extra inches. They charge ten dollars for delivery, and I figured it was worth it because I probably wouldn’t even be able to fit a box that big in my rental car, trunk included. What better way to drown your sorrows than in a pie? Sweet or cheesy and meaty, I need this.
Honestly, I’m hoping that just the sheer ridiculous size of the pizza will give me something to smile about. Because it feels a little bit like that’s never going to happen again for me.
“How tragic. It’s not like it’s entirely your fault or anything. Gather shit ingredients. Bake a shit pie. Make a shit bed. Lay in a shit bed.”
Whoa, keep the intrusive thoughts inside. Someone might wander by and think you’re crazy.
The woods are utterly silent. Sunlight dapples the manicured grass through the canopy of trees, waving softly in the breeze, and the pattern changes with every fresh gust.
“It would be wonderful to be able to enjoy it out here. It’s actually really pretty.”
Okay, just sit back and rock in that chair. The creaking is kind of nice. Close your eyes and don’t think about how you wrecked someone’s world. Don’t think about how he kissed you and wanted you, and it broke his fucking heart when he found out it was all a lie. Because it’s not doubly as bad, given how much hurt he’s already gone through. Don’t think about how your dad is never going to be the same ever again, all because you couldn’t just phone Luca up and tell him the truth like a not-so-crazy person.
“Garrr, god!” I shoot out of the rocker and stand at the edge of the porch. My chunky boots hang half off the edge, and my hand clutches the railing.
A flash of blue from the road catches my attention. I’m not as alone out here as I think. Someone very well could have heard me having a conversation with myself. My cheeks heat up. The vehicle passes through the trees in little blips and flashes, then it stops, and I can finally see it clearly. It reverses to the little marker at the end of the rutted dirt driveway. The marker does have some token gravel on it, but nature has mostly reclaimed it. It’s as easy to miss as the little sign with the fire number on it.
When I ordered the pizza, I had to explain where I was and give the land location and the fire number at the end of the driveway, which is mounted on a little metal stake.
Just like what I wrote down for Luca yesterday.
He hasn’t come.
But, well, why would he? If I can’t even dig my head out of my arse, why should he? Erm, if I can’t stop being angry with myself, why should he? I suppose that’s more accurate and politically correct.
Why am I even still here?
Right. Because the thought of going home and crushing my dad is equally as nauseating as being here and reminiscing about what a terrible human being I am.
#theworst.
At least the blue car is turning down the driveway now. It appears my pizza is here. If only my stomach weren’t churning like I’ve just taken a double turn on the most sickening fair ride, that would be great. What did I think I was going to do? Take a selfie posing next to the massive thing and giving a thumbs up and a big smile to send back home?
I wonder if it’s too late to cancel.
Yeah, definitely too late.
I watch the car navigate the rutted driveway. I’ve been careful with the rental every time I’ve pulled in here. I didn’t want to tear out the undercarriage, and there are a few ruts, bumps, and one big rock jutting out that could definitely make it happen.
I cross my arms and wait. The sun shines down, bright and cheerful, and not at all reflective of my mood. It hits the car’s windshield.