Read Online The Fixer Upper by Judith Arnold - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Judith Arnold
Ads: Link
what you’d like. A pillar on each side would suggest a division of the room, but you’d still have the flow.”
“I love Corinthian,” Macie gushed. “All those leaves and scrolls around the top. It makes such a statement, don’t you think?”
A statement about the pretentiousness of the home owner, perhaps, but Ned kept his mouth shut. If Macie was enthusiastic about the idea, he’d push it for all it was worth.
“Would we have to have just one on each side? Maybe we could install four of them, spaced evenly across the room.”
Jesus, that would look dumb. Ned smiled. “We can explore different placements once we’ve got the room framed. The columns wouldn’t be weight bearing, so we could put them wherever you want them.”
“Columns.” Macie sighed happily and gave herself a little hug. “I feel like Athena just thinking about it.”
If he and Mitch didn’t have to add a stupid wall in the middle of her living room, she could be Athena, Hera and Aphrodite rolled into one. “Great,” he said. “Let’s get to work.”
“Can I sit here?” Ashleigh Goldstein asked as she approached Reva’s table. One table over had empty seats, too, but the girls sitting there were Larissa LeMoyne and her friends, a group of stuck-up divas who probably IMed each other every morning before school because they always were dressed alike, in Marc Jacobs stuff from Barney’s. If Larissa was wearing a black miniskirt and tights, they’d all be wearing black miniskirts and tights. If she was wearing hoop earrings, they all wore hoop earrings. It was really gross.
Ashleigh Goldstein belonged at that table like Darth Vader belonged at a Sweet Sixteen party. Reva waved at the empty chair next to her and said, “Help yourself.”
Kim appeared less than pleased, but Reva didn’t mind Ashleigh’s company. She considered Ashleigh cool in a perverse way. Today, Ashleigh was dressed like a bag lady, in layers of faded denim and linen. Her hair was dyed black, but it looked sooty instead of sleek like Kim’s, and around her neck she wore her ankh on a velvet cord and a chai on a gold chain. She had big boobs, too. That thing about breast size being hereditary must be true.
“I hate gym,” Ashleigh announced, as if that had any possible relevance to anything in the world. Gym had come and gone hours ago, and during that period Ashleigh had continued her antiwar protest against field hockey. “I think you guys should sit out with me.”
“I like hockey,” Kim told her.
“You don’t strike me as the violent type,” Ashleigh commented, tilting her head to study Kim. Then she shrugged and unrolled her insulated lunch bag. She pulled out a box of lemonade and some sort of icky vegetarian sandwich with sprouts and other green stuff leaking out of the whole-wheat roll.
Reva could not imagine being a vegetarian. It sounded like a noble gesture, a great sacrifice—but not being able to eat a burger? Chicken fingers? Shrimp scampi? She’d rather die. Her lunch today was turkey breast on rye bread. She felt sorry for Ashleigh for being unable to enjoy such a culinary treat.
Kim wasn’t a vegetarian, but she always brought weird lunches to school. Even though both her parents had grown up in the United States, they were into their Japanese heritage and liked to send Kim to school with little Rubbermaid tubs full of miso soup and strips of teriyaki beef that Kim would have to reheat in the microwave by the soda vending machine.
“Field hockey is not violent,” Kim argued. “If anything, sports is a way to get out the violence inside us. Like, you’re pissed at your mother so you whack the ball with your stick, and then you’re not so pissed anymore.”
“That’s my point exactly,” Ashleigh said. “We’re using hockey to sublimate our violence, rather than trying not to be violent in the first place.”
“Ooh, sublimate ,” Reva said, wiggling her eyebrows. “Ash used a ten-dollar word.”
Both
“I love Corinthian,” Macie gushed. “All those leaves and scrolls around the top. It makes such a statement, don’t you think?”
A statement about the pretentiousness of the home owner, perhaps, but Ned kept his mouth shut. If Macie was enthusiastic about the idea, he’d push it for all it was worth.
“Would we have to have just one on each side? Maybe we could install four of them, spaced evenly across the room.”
Jesus, that would look dumb. Ned smiled. “We can explore different placements once we’ve got the room framed. The columns wouldn’t be weight bearing, so we could put them wherever you want them.”
“Columns.” Macie sighed happily and gave herself a little hug. “I feel like Athena just thinking about it.”
If he and Mitch didn’t have to add a stupid wall in the middle of her living room, she could be Athena, Hera and Aphrodite rolled into one. “Great,” he said. “Let’s get to work.”
“Can I sit here?” Ashleigh Goldstein asked as she approached Reva’s table. One table over had empty seats, too, but the girls sitting there were Larissa LeMoyne and her friends, a group of stuck-up divas who probably IMed each other every morning before school because they always were dressed alike, in Marc Jacobs stuff from Barney’s. If Larissa was wearing a black miniskirt and tights, they’d all be wearing black miniskirts and tights. If she was wearing hoop earrings, they all wore hoop earrings. It was really gross.
Ashleigh Goldstein belonged at that table like Darth Vader belonged at a Sweet Sixteen party. Reva waved at the empty chair next to her and said, “Help yourself.”
Kim appeared less than pleased, but Reva didn’t mind Ashleigh’s company. She considered Ashleigh cool in a perverse way. Today, Ashleigh was dressed like a bag lady, in layers of faded denim and linen. Her hair was dyed black, but it looked sooty instead of sleek like Kim’s, and around her neck she wore her ankh on a velvet cord and a chai on a gold chain. She had big boobs, too. That thing about breast size being hereditary must be true.
“I hate gym,” Ashleigh announced, as if that had any possible relevance to anything in the world. Gym had come and gone hours ago, and during that period Ashleigh had continued her antiwar protest against field hockey. “I think you guys should sit out with me.”
“I like hockey,” Kim told her.
“You don’t strike me as the violent type,” Ashleigh commented, tilting her head to study Kim. Then she shrugged and unrolled her insulated lunch bag. She pulled out a box of lemonade and some sort of icky vegetarian sandwich with sprouts and other green stuff leaking out of the whole-wheat roll.
Reva could not imagine being a vegetarian. It sounded like a noble gesture, a great sacrifice—but not being able to eat a burger? Chicken fingers? Shrimp scampi? She’d rather die. Her lunch today was turkey breast on rye bread. She felt sorry for Ashleigh for being unable to enjoy such a culinary treat.
Kim wasn’t a vegetarian, but she always brought weird lunches to school. Even though both her parents had grown up in the United States, they were into their Japanese heritage and liked to send Kim to school with little Rubbermaid tubs full of miso soup and strips of teriyaki beef that Kim would have to reheat in the microwave by the soda vending machine.
“Field hockey is not violent,” Kim argued. “If anything, sports is a way to get out the violence inside us. Like, you’re pissed at your mother so you whack the ball with your stick, and then you’re not so pissed anymore.”
“That’s my point exactly,” Ashleigh said. “We’re using hockey to sublimate our violence, rather than trying not to be violent in the first place.”
“Ooh, sublimate ,” Reva said, wiggling her eyebrows. “Ash used a ten-dollar word.”
Both
Similar Books
