Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 76693 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76693 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
My twin brother is now a coffee lover like me, Tate, and Willa. Tate likes to take credit for that win, but I’m pretty sure it has something to do with the fact Sloane is obsessed. Since Dempsey is obsessed with her, it makes sense.
“Oh,” Tate exclaims, “I forgot to tell you I hired Vada to plan the wedding. She’s hella expensive, but Jude says I’m worth it.” He sighs heavily. “The sad part is, we have to move the wedding to the fall in order to get everything I want. Jude says he’ll wait forever for me because I’m his everything.”
This time, my giggle is absolutely real. I love it when Tate preens about how much Jude loves him. It’s the truth, too. Tate’s ex was a monster, but my brother treats him like the prince he is.
“Do I still get to help pick out the tuxes you two will wear?”
Tate smirks. “Duh. You’re a bridesmaid. Part of the job.”
As he babbles about colors that would be so hot for fall, I can’t help but feel sad that he didn’t choose me for his maid of honor. I’m Jude’s sister after all. He asked Willa, and while I’m happy for her to be included, it still hurt. Even Tate, my adorable brother-in-law-to-be, has a better friend than me.
I hate that I can’t shake this icky feeling that’s coated over me lately. Since starting college, I always feel weighed down by a shroud of…something.
Unhappiness? Depression? Inadequacy?
Whatever it is, I don’t like it. No matter how hard I pretend that everything is fine or force myself to keep trudging through it with a smile affixed, it never really goes away.
I kind of wish I could schedule a meeting with Tate. An official meeting where I brain dump everything that’s bothering me so he can quickly tell me how to fix it. Once it’s fixed, I can move along business as usual.
Tate stops talking mid-sentence and frowns. “Something’s up, Gem.”
“Nothing’s up,” I say with another fake grin. “I just had this horrible thought of you choosing yellow.”
Tate’s lip curls up. “Ew. No. Don’t worry. I’m leaning toward lavender. Wouldn’t Jude look so hot in lavender?”
It’s my turn to balk. “Ew. Wrong bridesmaid to talk about that stuff with. I’m sure Aubrey or Willa would love to agree, but I think Jude and hot don’t belong in the same sentence. Don’t be disgusting.”
We both laugh and then Tate is being pulled away to a conversation with his hubby-to-be. I stifle a sigh and take a moment to appreciate this wild, crazy family I have. Most people would love to be me. I literally have it all: loving parents, tight-knit family, great hair, awesome car, financial means, and paid-for college.
I mean, a million people follow me because I’m a picture of perfection.
Except @TwoCanPlayThisGame.
That person claimed they could see the real me. The one beneath the polished exterior. The sad, confused, lonely girl.
Pulling out my phone, I quickly do a search for content creators who are known for positive self-talk. Once I’ve followed a few, I decide I’ll do a deep dive into their pages for answers on how to get myself out of this funk.
I can totally do it.
I achieve things all the time that seem impossible to others.
Tomorrow, school will start back up and things will get easier. I’ll be around new people, busy with homework, and free to just be me. All I need to do is get through tonight.
In the morning, I’ll be back to the Gemma everyone loves and adores both on the outside and the inside.
I’m allowed one bad day.
Only one.
Two
Dax: Dude, stop ignoring me.
I groan and quickly read through the onslaught of messages my best friend sent over the past two hours. He knows if I don’t answer, I’m busy with a project. I swear I chose the most high-maintenance guy in the world to be friends with.
Me: I’m not ignoring you. Cedarwood Mansion has my immediate focus.
Dax: The real one or the replica?
Me: The replica IS real.
He sends me a fuckton of eye roll emojis. Sometimes I wonder how two completely different guys like me and Dax Summers could ever become and stay friends. We’re so different it’s almost hilarious. Dax drives a tricked-out matte-black Beamer, plays football for PMU, and has a jock style that makes every girl in the vicinity drool over him.
Meanwhile, I drive Pops’s old 1988 Land Rover Defender 90, which is the complete opposite of Dax’s chick magnet. I certainly don’t play sports like him. And my style? While I think it’s cool, Dax has told me numerous times that it’s not.
What’s not to love about an olive-colored M-65 field jacket from the Vietnam War? It’s vintage and was a badass find. No one, and I mean no one, is wearing this jacket.