Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 87856 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87856 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Even I noticed how weird shit was with Deidre.
"Do you need help?" Julie asks.
"Keep Patrick company," Imogen asks.
"Permission to torture him? Score." Julie stands and offers a hand.
I shake. "Nice to make a formal introduction."
"One more word about the chai and you don't get one," Imogen says.
Julie mimes zipping her lips and turns to me. She studies me, carefully, assessing me as worthy or not-worthy of her sister.
"You're cuter than your pictures," she says.
"Oh my god, Jules, I will restrain you if you don't behave," Imogen says.
"Is that what she says to you too?" Julie winks.
Imogen turns to hide her blush. "I will deprive you of that chai."
"You won't. You're not capable. But I'll be nice. Ish," Julie says. "And it is nice to say someone is cuter in person."
Imogen motions so-so. "Don't listen to her. She's messing with you."
"Oh. I know." I motion for Julie to sit at the table.
She does.
"I'm a younger sibling too."
"So the game is on?" she asks.
"Absolutely."
She smiles.
"Are you as competitive as your sister?" I ask.
"No, no, no. We're not here to talk about me. We're here to talk about you," she says.
"Are you?" I ask.
She nods. "Way more."
"You look like her too," I say.
"But I'm cuter?" she asks.
"Our secret." I sit across from her.
"She's taller." Julie shakes her head. "It's not fair. But I guess it's fitting, the older sister being taller. It's weird when a younger sibling is taller. Don't you think?"
"Kinda," I say. "When you're a kid, it seems off."
"Has Imogen repeatedly reminded you I'm a naive seventeen-year-old?" she asks.
"Only once or twice," I say.
"I'll be a senior next year," she says. "We're four years apart. That's unusual."
"My sisters too," he says.
"Older or younger?" she asks.
At the counter, Imogen freezes.
Julie reads her sister too well—we're facing each other, but we're both in eye shot of Imogen. She notices and raises a brow.
"My sister died," I say. "Last year. Deidre. This was her place."
"Oh, shit. Imogen mentioned that and I totally spaced. I'm sorry." Julie sinks into her seat, deflated. It's not fun to tease the guy with the dead sister.
"Thanks." I hate this. The way the air changes when I mention her death. I don't blame Imogen for keeping her secrets to herself, keeping them from her sister.
I hate it, as a younger sibling—
But I get it.
"My older sister, Molly, she was about four years older than Deidre," I say. "She's in her thirties."
"Like a real adult?" Julie's voice stays tenuous. "Like old-old."
"She's a lawyer, yeah. Wears a suit to work every day," I say.
"Really? A suit? What color?" Julie asks.
"All sorts," I say. "She loves a power suit."
"No beige?" Julie asks.
"Never beige. She's always been bold. She's a lot like Imogen, actually. Tough in an untouchable way. Expressing it to the world in a dark pink or teal green suit," I say.
"I can see Immy in a dark pink suit," she says. "And you're Irish, right?"
I nod.
"Does she look like you?" Julie asks.
"No. She's got red hair."
"Red with pink? That's bold. I like it. Does she rock forest green?"
"Her power color," I say.
"Not black, like Immy?" she asks.
"Don't knock black. It's classic," I say. "And she has plenty of fuchsia too."
"You really are good with colors. Imogen is hopeless. She doesn't know the difference between seafoam and turquoise," she says.
"Pathetic, yeah." The mood is lighter, but not enough. I need to push off the subject of my family and onto hers. Or, at least, onto something easy. "Your sister said I'm her first boyfriend in a while. Who was the last?"
"Oh my god, she hasn't talked to you about Zack?" She sheds half the heaviness. "The film major who loved the sound of his own voice."
Imogen watches her sister shift into playful mode, then turns her attention to fixing oatmeal and tea.
"Not a fan?" I ask.
"He was hot. Really hot," she says.
"Hey," I tease.
"Not hotter than you are. Just different," she says. "Smart hot. Not that he was intelligent. Honestly, I think, deep down, he was an idiot, and it was worse, because he thought he was smart. There's nothing worse than an idiot who thinks they're smart, you know?"
"I know the type," I say.
"Right. You work with artists too. They can be divas," she says.
"Are you an artist?" I ask.
She laughs. "No. I just like art class. I'd never try to make it a career. Too unstable."
"It can be," I say.
"I think it's good you are, though. Imogen needs that. Someone with a creative spirit."
"But not Zack?" I ask.
"Omg, no. He rocked tweed blazers all summer and only drank IPAs. He was such a blowhard. I don't think she even liked him. I don't think she even liked ahem with him."
Imogen shakes her head but she doesn't interrupt us.
"I know, she'll say I couldn't tell, but sometimes chemistry is obvious," Julie says. "You two… whew. I'm not sure how much she actually likes you, but she definitely likes that."