Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 119548 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 598(@200wpm)___ 478(@250wpm)___ 398(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119548 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 598(@200wpm)___ 478(@250wpm)___ 398(@300wpm)
Sins? What were the sins of the great Violet Wellington? Too many chocolates after dinner, perhaps?
The woman was the most disciplined person I knew.
“That’s the third religion you’ve referenced in the past two minutes. Instead of praying, why don’t you just take up a new hobby? Knitting. Paint-by-numbers. Crochet. Something a little less likely to insult a great deal of the world’s population.”
Aunt Vi sighed dramatically. “You’re right, darling. I don’t think I’m cut out for organised religion. But if anyone wanted to start a religion solely based around worshipping Pedro Pascal, I would be ordained in a heartbeat.”
Yes.
There wasn’t a person in this village who wasn’t simping over that man, it seemed.
Except me.
I didn’t get it. Then again, I didn’t really simp or swoon over anyone or anything, so perhaps I was the problem.
I usually was.
“Well, I’m going to head home and cross my fingers for Pedro Pascalanity to catch on,” I said, pulling my car keys from my bag.
“I think I’d vote for Pedroism,” Aunt Vi mused.
It did have a certain ring to it.
A bit like hedonism.
Then again, if she were going to worship at the altar of a man she had a huge, harmless crush on, what was the harm in a little hedonism?
As long as I didn’t have to participate in whatever prayer sessions they had going on, it was none of my business.
“You’re right, Aunt Vi,” I said, opening my car door. “That’s much catchier.”
She beamed. “I thought so. Are you coming over later?”
“No, I—”
“I’m making your favourite for dinner.”
I paused. “Uh, by favourite, do you mean your turkey meatballs?”
A glint of amusement flashed in her eyes. “The meat is already marinating in the fridge, and I’m going to pick herbs from the garden when I’m home.”
“Oh no, you’ve twisted my arm,” I said, deadpan. “It would be so rude of me not to come when you’re going to such effort.”
She laughed, tossing her head back. “See you at five-thirty, Deli.”
She most certainly would.
Not to beat a dead horse, but something was definitely going on, and it might have taken me all day, but I think I’d figured it out.
My best friend was going to propose to me tonight.
That’s the only explanation for why both of our entire families were here. Even my mother’s boyfriend and my sister’s husband were present. Amelia and Henry were still here, and both grandmothers had been flitting back and forth like someone had switched out their pills for a class-A drug.
One of them was going to pop their hip out, I just knew it.
Fifty quid said it would be mine.
The woman had two mandala tattoos where her tits used to be, for goodness’ sake. If anyone was going to go out swinging, it would be Nana.
“I see.”
“Very delicate, isn’t it?” Nana said quietly. “And if you look just down here, it’s a bit thicker to hide the scar.”
I stopped in the doorway.
Speaking of mandala tattoos…
If I walked into this room and she had her shirt up under her arms again, I was going to turn around and go right home.
“It’s done so well,” Henry remarked. “You’d never know, would you?”
“Aside from the absence of Nana’s actual breasts,” Mel said.
“Oh, pish,” Nana replied. “At my age, they’d be less breast and more empty shopping bags. Do you know how much your grandmother has to pack her bra out to make them look even remotely perky?”
Yep.
I was going home.
A heavy arm rested on my shoulder, and I didn’t need to move to see who it was.
“Nana, I’ve told you before, you can’t just go around getting your tits out like that,” Fred said, leaning against me. “What if someone complains again?”
Nana turned and blinked at us both, her t-shirt bunched up under her arms showing off her bare chest. “I don’t have my tits out, Frederick. I don’t have tits to get out.”
I dropped my chin to my chest and sighed so heavily that my shoulders heaved. “I should have left when I had the chance.”
“Well, you didn’t.” He patted the top of my head.
As if I needed him to remind me of that.
“Put your t-shirt down, Nana,” I said, shaking him off and walking into the room. I was already bloody here, wasn’t I? “Tits or no tits, it’s still not societally acceptable.”
“I don’t give a shit. I’m dying. If I want to get my non-existent tits out, I’m going to bloody well get them out.”
“But she’s not getting her tits out,” Mel said. “She’s getting her tats out.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Please don’t encourage her.”
“Ooh, I like that!” Nana clapped her hands together, and her t-shirt finally fell to cover her torso.
Well, at least she wasn’t wearing a dress this time. Last time she’d shown off her tattoos, she’d hiked her dress up and flashed her bloomers to half the pub.