Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 89583 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89583 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 448(@200wpm)___ 358(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
Wow, okay, it’s the Spanish Inquisition. If this is what Brian and Reagan have had to fend off their entire lives, it’s a miracle they didn’t produce two sociopaths.
A tiny smile flirts on Jordan’s mouth. She’s enjoying this…the bitch.
“Dad, give it a rest,” Reagan drawls with a shake of his head. “She doesn’t have to justify her choices to you.”
“She’s not a child, Reagan. If she can’t answer a few harmless questions, how will she succeed in the Hollywood cesspool?”
“My parents have always been very supportive of my choices, Dr. Reynolds. And I’m not pursuing it on their dime. I have a scholarship and I’ve worked very hard to save up enough to finish my BA at Malibu.”
I squeeze Rea’s thigh under the table, reassuring him that I’ve got this. At least, I think I’ve got this. You need a whip and a chair to fend off these people. Reagan places his hand over mine and rubs.
Pat Reynolds nods. “What business are they in? Your parents?”
“My stepmom is an emergency room nurse, and my dad works for the US Postal Service.”
“Your parents are divorced?” Deborah Reynolds asks in a brisk tone.
“No, my mother died of cancer when I was five.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” No emotional reaction at all. Eyes cast down, she continues cutting her turkey breast as if I’d asked her to pass the salt. Wow, Dr. Deborah Reynolds’s bedside manner leaves a lot to be desired.
“What does your father do for the Postal Service?” This is like tag team wrestling, perfectly synchronized to take the opponent out with a power bomb. I glance at the other end of the table to find Pat Reynolds’s cold, rapt attention on me.
“Jesus Christ!” Reagan cuts in, tone exasperated. “Can we talk about something else? I saw Brian. Why don’t you take some interest in him.”
He’s close to losing it. I know what his tipping point looks like now. A beat of tension-filled silence ensues in which Reagan’s dad does his best to stare him into submission and fails. Also noteworthy, the Richardsons don’t seem fazed by any of this.
“We’re not discussing your brother today,” Dr. Reynolds declares. “I’d like to have a peaceful meal if you don’t mind.”
That has me biting back the urge to laugh. I guess I’m not entitled to the same courtesy. I sit up straighter and somehow summon the courage to stare Pat Reynolds in the eye. “My father delivers the mail.”
You can hear a pin drop. His parents exchange a look. “That’s nothing to be ashamed of,” his mother has the audacity to say with a stiff smile. With a smile!
“Mom,” Reagan growls, a storm brewing on his face.
“No, it isn’t,” is all I say out of respect for my friend. I’ll walk out of here basically unscathed. But he’ll never be rid of these people.
Reagan
“Hi, Olga.” My parents’ housekeeper is bent over the kitchen sink, rinsing dishes and loading the dishwasher. After twenty years of handling all the household business like clothing, feeding, and caring for me and Brian, all the stuff my mother never had time for, I guess I should call her part of the family.
She glances over her shoulder and smiles once she realizes it’s me. “Reagan!” I don’t come around often. Last time might’ve been three months ago so it’s startling to note the changes. The lines along her eyes more pronounced, the hair completely white.
She dries her hands and closes the distance between us. “So handsome,” she tells me as she pats my cheek. “You have new girlfriend, I see.” I return a smile because I can’t very well tell her the truth.
Her smile cuts off and her expression grows troubled. “You see Brian?”
Brian has always been her favorite. When we were kids, during the summer, the two of them would spend hours by the pool. Olga reading and Brian yelling at her to watch him swim laps. She loved indulging him. And maybe because she doesn’t have kids of her own, she thrived off his need for her attention. I shake my head and her mood gets darker.
My mother walks into the kitchen with a smile on her face, completely unfazed by the skirmish at dinner. That’s her superpower. Her ability to completely block out the fact that my father is an epic asshole and that she sometimes comes in a close second. Ignore the problem and it ceases to exist. The Reynolds family motto. She did the same with Brian.
“Olga, you don’t have to do that,” she says. “Leave it. Consuelo can do it tomorrow.”
“Thank you, Dr. Reynolds. Good night.” Olga’s worked here for twenty years, lives in this house, and never once has my mother given her permission to address her by her first name. It has pissed me off since I was old enough to understand.