Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 133655 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 668(@200wpm)___ 535(@250wpm)___ 446(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 133655 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 668(@200wpm)___ 535(@250wpm)___ 446(@300wpm)
But when you’re brunching with your mother, your smartass little sister, and your sex therapist grandmother who has written four best-selling books on sexual liberation and once said the phrase “clitoral blooming” in a TED Talk—it’s less Audrey Hepburn fantasy and more HBO dramedy with a side of eggs Benedict.
My grandma leans forward, her silk scarf billowing like a cape in the air conditioning, and points her mimosa flute at me. “So, Julia. Are you still experiencing regular orgasms?”
I choke on my orange juice, and my mom is quick to chime in.
“Mom!” she hisses, appalled by my grandmother’s question. Which is wild, honestly, that she can still get that worked up over her sex therapist mother’s random sexual health questions. I’d think she’d be used to it by now. Expected it, even. “Can we please not with the climax talk? This place has white tablecloths.”
“Relax, Georgia.” My grandma rolls her eyes. “It’s the Plaza. Not the Vatican.”
My sister slouches dramatically in her velvet chair, stabbing her fruit salad with a fork. She doesn’t look up, but she does join in the conversation. “Honestly, I was wondering the same thing.”
“Evie!” my mom shrieks.
Grandma just smiles. “See, Georgia? Even Evie is concerned about Julia’s sexual health.”
“Why do I come to these things?” I mutter, half laughing, half dying inside.
Grandma takes a quick drink of her mimosa but doesn’t hesitate to answer my rhetorical question. “Because you know we love you, and brunch without me shocking your mother is just overpriced toast.”
By the time our food arrives—smoked salmon this, truffle aioli that—the chaos has mellowed into something warm and fizzy like the champagne. We’re laughing about how Evie managed to get Big Boobs McGee Heather to take down the website that scandalized our father by contacting one of our parents’ best friends Caplin Hawkins, a very successful lawyer, and serving her lawsuit papers while she was in the middle of class.
Technically, Thatch is the one who served the papers, and that honestly makes it ten times funnier, even though the mere thought of anyone related to Ace sets my chest ablaze.
But then Savannah turns her full therapist gaze on me again. “So. Are you seeing anyone, Julia?”
“Uh…yeah,” I answer around a bite full of eggs. “I am. And you met him, Grandma.”
She stares at me, confused. “Met who?”
“Drew,” I say. “I brought him to brunch at Mom and Dad’s.”
“You brought a boy to brunch? Why don’t I remember this?”
“Probably because Julia’s boyfriend isn’t very memorable,” Evie mutters, and I roll my eyes.
“Drew is really nice,” I say. “He goes to Dickson.”
“Is it serious with this...?” My grandma pauses, already forgetting Drew’s freaking name.
“I’ve known Drew since freshman year, but we just started dating this summer so it’s still pretty new,” I add.
“Cassie met him at a party Gunnar threw at their house,” my mom chimes in. “She thought he was very charming and had clean fingernails.”
Damn, the night of Gunnar’s wild party feels like ages ago.
That’s probably because it was before everything with you and Ace went to shit.
“Clean fingernails?” Evie repeats with a furrowed brow. “I call bullshit. There’s no way in hell Aunt Cassie said he has clean fingernails.”
“Evie,” my mom chastises. “How about we keep the language PG? We’re at the Plaza, for goodness’ sake.”
Evie shrugs, but she doesn’t let up. “What did Aunt Cass really say about Julia’s new dude?”
Our mom sighs. “Does it matter?”
Evie grins and points a finger in Mom’s direction. “I knew she didn’t say clean fingernails!”
“Are you monogamous with Drew, hun?” Grandma asks. “Or are you giving yourself room for sexual exploration?”
“Really, Mom?” Mom sighs audibly.
“What? It’s a fair question,” Grandma says, munching on a croissant. “Julia isn’t exactly glowing with postcoital energy.”
I sigh. “How about we play a little game of let’s be silent while I eat my eggs in peace?”
Savannah narrows her eyes like I’m a patient in denial. “Julia, my sweetheart. Women always get a specific look when they’re in love and being sexually satisfied. Like their whole aura is humming. But right now, I’m sorry to say, you look more like dial-up internet than high-speed Wi-Fi.”
“I’m happy,” I say, but I can’t deny it feels like a lie coming off my tongue. “Drew is great. Clean fingernails. Amazing sexual prowess. Fully satisfied and happy, that’s me.” The last part is most definitely a lie. Drew and I haven’t done much besides make out, hug, and hold hands. Our relationship has maintained an incredibly PG status, and I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.
Girl, it’s a bad thing.
I refuse to entertain the thought and distract myself with a drink of orange juice.
“Mm-hmm,” Savannah comments, but her scrutinizing eyes say she’s unconvinced. “And what about my favorite college stud, Ace? Is he dating anyone? What does he think of your new boyfriend, Drew?”