everything nearly made her skin crawl.
"You're a nut,” she said. “And for God's sake, stop talking to yourself!"
* * * *
Kylie watched the sun begin to set. She eyed the cake she had made so lovingly. She really had to hand it to herself. She'd pulled off a miracle this afternoon. She'd managed a two-tiered anniversary cake, cleaned the upstairs, and sent in three of her writing assignments. Her editor had even sent a congratulatory email. Seemed all the pressure was bringing out the aggressive writer in her. Marcia had loved the interviews and given her an assignment she'd been itching for. All in all, a good day.
As the pinks and blues of the sky toned down to a deep purple, Kylie poured herself a nice cold glass of wine. She had definitely earned it. The first sip was cool, fruity heaven. She felt the old familiar craving for a cigarette. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath and let the craving pass. If she could survive this party without cracking, she would forever be a nonsmoker. No doubt about it. If this stress didn't break her, she couldn't be broken.
The phone gave its customary burble and Kylie sighed. Most likely her sister from the liquor store. What kind of beer? Dark? Light? Red? What kind of wine? How much? How many bottles would we need? She could hear all the inane questions in her head before she even picked up the receiver. Kylie steeled herself. Best to be calm and patient. She wouldn't get a lick of work out of Fawn if she let loose on her.
"Yes?” she said with mock amusement.
"Hello? Kylie?"
"Mrs. Sinclair!” Kylie stammered. “I'm so sorry. I thought for sure it was Fawn. I didn't mean to be rude ... I mean—” Kylie let loose a deep sigh and started again. “I apologize, how are you?"
Terri Sinclair laughed. Her laugh sounded the same as it had when Kylie was a child. The Sinclairs were her parents’ oldest friends. She hadn't talked to them in years. Not since Wade had gone off. The thought alone sent a brief stab of pain through Kylie.
She was too old to feel that way, she reprimanded herself. Too old to still have teenage hang-ups.
"I am fine, my darling. And how are you? Having a hard time getting Fawn to pull her weight? Let me guess, this was all her idea. And you, sweetie, got the honor of doing all the hard work."
Kylie sipped her wine and couldn't repress a giggle. “You do remember her well, don't you?"
"Both of you, sweetie. I just haven't seen you in ages. I heard this shindig is at your new house. I'm so excited to see it. Carol says it's marvelous."
Kylie allowed herself to take it all in again. Yes, it was. And it was all hers. The two-hundred-year-old farmhouse. White, of course. Six bedrooms. Two fireplaces. A wrap-around porch. The house of her dreams.
"Are you reveling as we speak?” Terri asked, pulling her in from her daydream.
"I'm sorry! Yes, I was. I'll admit it to you, Mrs. Sinclair. I was gaping again. Not a day goes by that I don't gape."
"From what your mother says, you deserve to gape. She said she wasn't so sure about it when you bought it. I believe the phrase she used was ‘a piece of doodie'."
"I'm sure Mom didn't use that word,” Kylie laughed.
"No, you're right. She used the other word. You'll have to forgive me but I still think of you and Fawn as impressionable young girls."
"Fawn maybe.” Kylie sighed, sipping her wine. “Not me. I'm too old for people to impress anything upon me I don't want."
Terri's laughter wafted in her ear again. “Yes. You are ancient, Kylie. What are you now? Twenty-seven?"
"Twenty-nine,” Kylie corrected.
"Ah. Forgive me. Anyway, if I still know your sister's work ethic, I'm sure you're swamped. I just had one quick question and then I'll let you get back to the million things awaiting your attention."
"Shoot,” Kylie said, settling in her new sofa. Chocolate brown. Overstuffed. Heaven on earth. “But if you're going to ask me what you can get them, I haven't a clue. I don't even have a
"You're a nut,” she said. “And for God's sake, stop talking to yourself!"
* * * *
Kylie watched the sun begin to set. She eyed the cake she had made so lovingly. She really had to hand it to herself. She'd pulled off a miracle this afternoon. She'd managed a two-tiered anniversary cake, cleaned the upstairs, and sent in three of her writing assignments. Her editor had even sent a congratulatory email. Seemed all the pressure was bringing out the aggressive writer in her. Marcia had loved the interviews and given her an assignment she'd been itching for. All in all, a good day.
As the pinks and blues of the sky toned down to a deep purple, Kylie poured herself a nice cold glass of wine. She had definitely earned it. The first sip was cool, fruity heaven. She felt the old familiar craving for a cigarette. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath and let the craving pass. If she could survive this party without cracking, she would forever be a nonsmoker. No doubt about it. If this stress didn't break her, she couldn't be broken.
The phone gave its customary burble and Kylie sighed. Most likely her sister from the liquor store. What kind of beer? Dark? Light? Red? What kind of wine? How much? How many bottles would we need? She could hear all the inane questions in her head before she even picked up the receiver. Kylie steeled herself. Best to be calm and patient. She wouldn't get a lick of work out of Fawn if she let loose on her.
"Yes?” she said with mock amusement.
"Hello? Kylie?"
"Mrs. Sinclair!” Kylie stammered. “I'm so sorry. I thought for sure it was Fawn. I didn't mean to be rude ... I mean—” Kylie let loose a deep sigh and started again. “I apologize, how are you?"
Terri Sinclair laughed. Her laugh sounded the same as it had when Kylie was a child. The Sinclairs were her parents’ oldest friends. She hadn't talked to them in years. Not since Wade had gone off. The thought alone sent a brief stab of pain through Kylie.
She was too old to feel that way, she reprimanded herself. Too old to still have teenage hang-ups.
"I am fine, my darling. And how are you? Having a hard time getting Fawn to pull her weight? Let me guess, this was all her idea. And you, sweetie, got the honor of doing all the hard work."
Kylie sipped her wine and couldn't repress a giggle. “You do remember her well, don't you?"
"Both of you, sweetie. I just haven't seen you in ages. I heard this shindig is at your new house. I'm so excited to see it. Carol says it's marvelous."
Kylie allowed herself to take it all in again. Yes, it was. And it was all hers. The two-hundred-year-old farmhouse. White, of course. Six bedrooms. Two fireplaces. A wrap-around porch. The house of her dreams.
"Are you reveling as we speak?” Terri asked, pulling her in from her daydream.
"I'm sorry! Yes, I was. I'll admit it to you, Mrs. Sinclair. I was gaping again. Not a day goes by that I don't gape."
"From what your mother says, you deserve to gape. She said she wasn't so sure about it when you bought it. I believe the phrase she used was ‘a piece of doodie'."
"I'm sure Mom didn't use that word,” Kylie laughed.
"No, you're right. She used the other word. You'll have to forgive me but I still think of you and Fawn as impressionable young girls."
"Fawn maybe.” Kylie sighed, sipping her wine. “Not me. I'm too old for people to impress anything upon me I don't want."
Terri's laughter wafted in her ear again. “Yes. You are ancient, Kylie. What are you now? Twenty-seven?"
"Twenty-nine,” Kylie corrected.
"Ah. Forgive me. Anyway, if I still know your sister's work ethic, I'm sure you're swamped. I just had one quick question and then I'll let you get back to the million things awaiting your attention."
"Shoot,” Kylie said, settling in her new sofa. Chocolate brown. Overstuffed. Heaven on earth. “But if you're going to ask me what you can get them, I haven't a clue. I don't even have a
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