Read Online HAPPILY EVER BEFORE by Aimee Pitta, Melissa Peterman - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Aimee Pitta, Melissa Peterman
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Higgins,” threatened Diane, “drop the subject or else!”
“You’re going to send me to my room? Or, will you punish me and make me go to bed every night without watching TV?”
Diane sighed. “If we can change our history, so you can say you went on tour with Death Parade and Clair suffered from exhaustion, can’t we just call this a harmless crush and let it go?”
“That could be arranged.” said Clair, “but only if you talk to him.”
“Yeah,” replied Grace.
“Fine, when you make a decision about your womb, I’ll talk to him. Okay?”
“Deal,” said Grace.
“Deal,” said Clair.
Diane sighed. “Can we get back to more important things like what happens if Grace has to go on bed rest? For the record, she’s not moving in with me. She is the most difficult sick person I’ve ever met--well, next to your father.” They took a moment to pause on the memory of their beloved Popsicle.
“I’m not difficult,” retorted Grace.
“No, you’re a bitch. There’s a difference,” laughed Clair.
“I don’t like burnt toast, who likes burnt toast?” Grace scowled at her sister. “I’d be a little nicer if I were you; this womb is no way near to being yours yet.”
Diane rolled her eyes, then turned to get their waitress and noticed that Sal was looking at her. She got nervous and immediately spilled a glass of water. Her daughters jumped, “oh, shit Mom,” and swung into action to clean up her mess as Diane turned bright red and hung her head in embarrassment.
Chapter 7
More than anything in the world Grace hated clothes--not that she had some desire to be a nudist and walk around naked all the time, but clothes were annoying. When you are five-eleven in stocking feet, finding something that fits, which means it was long enough and didn’t cling in all the wrong places, was like trying to find a needle in a haystack. “No way! You look like a reject from outer space.” Grace stood in front of Clair and George in an outfit.
George reacted badly. “Did you get that from Judy Jetson’s closet?” She pushed Grace out of the way. “Sit down. Give us control of your closet, okay? You were never really good at this.”
Grace did what she was told. “Yeah, well try to find a happy medium between slut and school teacher.”
“Who you calling a slut?”
George giggled, “ you wish Clair Bear,” then dug deep into Grace’s closet. Somewhere between the bell-bottoms and clam diggers she found a pair of black Marc Jacobs tights.
Clair looked through Grace’s dresser and sighed. “Please let me organize this room, please--getting dressed would be so much easier.” She stopped talking when she hit pay dirt with a cute Lerario Beatriz jersey dress.
Grace stared at her. “You already reorganized my house without my permission and asked for the use of my womb--don’t you think you’re pushing it?”
George, who was now on the bottom of Grace’s closet, said, “ well , she’s got a point.”
“Who’s got a point?” Clair and Grace bellowed at the same time.
George crawled out with dust bunnies clinging to her arms and legs, and a pair of black ballet flats under her arm. “You both do. Grace, you should have Clair reorganize your bedroom. You were just saying the other day how much easier everything is to find.” Clair gave Grace a triumphant smile as George continued. “Now, we all know Clair gets an enormous amount of pleasure out of reorganizing ,which is equal, at least in my book, to the amount of pleasure she’d get from Grace carrying her child, so yes, you could say that Clair was pushing it.” Grace then shot Clair a triumphant look.
“Well, you’re hardly impartial. You told Grace, and I quote, first rule of life: never lend family money or your uterus.”
George gave Grace the stink-eye. “I stand by that, but you actually have a solid relationship. Now, if you want to keep it that way, I suggest getting a lawyer.”
“Henry and I
“You’re going to send me to my room? Or, will you punish me and make me go to bed every night without watching TV?”
Diane sighed. “If we can change our history, so you can say you went on tour with Death Parade and Clair suffered from exhaustion, can’t we just call this a harmless crush and let it go?”
“That could be arranged.” said Clair, “but only if you talk to him.”
“Yeah,” replied Grace.
“Fine, when you make a decision about your womb, I’ll talk to him. Okay?”
“Deal,” said Grace.
“Deal,” said Clair.
Diane sighed. “Can we get back to more important things like what happens if Grace has to go on bed rest? For the record, she’s not moving in with me. She is the most difficult sick person I’ve ever met--well, next to your father.” They took a moment to pause on the memory of their beloved Popsicle.
“I’m not difficult,” retorted Grace.
“No, you’re a bitch. There’s a difference,” laughed Clair.
“I don’t like burnt toast, who likes burnt toast?” Grace scowled at her sister. “I’d be a little nicer if I were you; this womb is no way near to being yours yet.”
Diane rolled her eyes, then turned to get their waitress and noticed that Sal was looking at her. She got nervous and immediately spilled a glass of water. Her daughters jumped, “oh, shit Mom,” and swung into action to clean up her mess as Diane turned bright red and hung her head in embarrassment.
Chapter 7
More than anything in the world Grace hated clothes--not that she had some desire to be a nudist and walk around naked all the time, but clothes were annoying. When you are five-eleven in stocking feet, finding something that fits, which means it was long enough and didn’t cling in all the wrong places, was like trying to find a needle in a haystack. “No way! You look like a reject from outer space.” Grace stood in front of Clair and George in an outfit.
George reacted badly. “Did you get that from Judy Jetson’s closet?” She pushed Grace out of the way. “Sit down. Give us control of your closet, okay? You were never really good at this.”
Grace did what she was told. “Yeah, well try to find a happy medium between slut and school teacher.”
“Who you calling a slut?”
George giggled, “ you wish Clair Bear,” then dug deep into Grace’s closet. Somewhere between the bell-bottoms and clam diggers she found a pair of black Marc Jacobs tights.
Clair looked through Grace’s dresser and sighed. “Please let me organize this room, please--getting dressed would be so much easier.” She stopped talking when she hit pay dirt with a cute Lerario Beatriz jersey dress.
Grace stared at her. “You already reorganized my house without my permission and asked for the use of my womb--don’t you think you’re pushing it?”
George, who was now on the bottom of Grace’s closet, said, “ well , she’s got a point.”
“Who’s got a point?” Clair and Grace bellowed at the same time.
George crawled out with dust bunnies clinging to her arms and legs, and a pair of black ballet flats under her arm. “You both do. Grace, you should have Clair reorganize your bedroom. You were just saying the other day how much easier everything is to find.” Clair gave Grace a triumphant smile as George continued. “Now, we all know Clair gets an enormous amount of pleasure out of reorganizing ,which is equal, at least in my book, to the amount of pleasure she’d get from Grace carrying her child, so yes, you could say that Clair was pushing it.” Grace then shot Clair a triumphant look.
“Well, you’re hardly impartial. You told Grace, and I quote, first rule of life: never lend family money or your uterus.”
George gave Grace the stink-eye. “I stand by that, but you actually have a solid relationship. Now, if you want to keep it that way, I suggest getting a lawyer.”
“Henry and I
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