Page 59 of The Choices I've Made
Millie followed me to the living room. The bottle of whiskey I’d plowed through was thankfully gone.
But the memories weren’t.
I swallowed hard as my body remembered exactly what had transpired.
A bit of heat, some pent up lust and a whole lot of bad decisions.
Yep. That about summed it up.
“What do you expect?” she said, taking a seat on the couch beside me. “She was worried about you. It’s not like she wanted to come over here and spring this on you, and why wouldn’t she call Mom? Her and Dottie have been the best of friends for ages.”
“I know,” I agreed. “But I’ve barely had a chance to process it, you know? One minute, I’m engaged, and the next, I’m handing back the antique ring I was given to my fiancé’s mom. It’s just a lot to take in. I thought I’d have at least a day before it spread across the island.”
Her hand fell on my shoulder. “I doubt it’s gone that far yet.”
I gave her a dubious stare. “Really? Because even Jake didn’t seem surprised when I sprang the news on him last night.”
My baby sister’s eyes lit up. “Hanky-Panky Jakey?” she said, suddenly looking around. “He’s here?”
“No,” I instantly replied, feeling a wave of guilt wash over me. “I mean, yes, he’s here on the island. But nothere, here,” I explained. “And that is a terrible nickname.”
She laughed, a lovely lilt that I couldn’t emulate if I tried. It perfectly matched her designer jeans and blouse, as if she’d handpicked it right off a runway in Paris.
I’ll take that gorgeous silk blouse and the angelic laugh, please. Can that be delivered?
“It’s a joke between us.”
“I heard all about the lucrative deal you made with my ex. No wonder they call you the shark at work.”
She smiled wide, like a Cheshire cat. “He helped pay for my summer wardrobe that year.”
I rolled my eyes. “Who are you? Clearly not the lanky brat of a sister I had who once spent an entire night up in the trees just to prove a point to Mom and Dad.”
“The very same, and they had it coming.”
“Do you even remember what you were fighting for?” I asked, remembering my tiny sister way up in the tree with her pillow and stuffed unicorn.
“The slaughter of pigs, I believe. Mom served ribs one night, and a guest commented, saying it was the best hog she’d ever tried. Mom had never told me where meat came from. I felt like my whole life was a lie.”
“You didn’t last long. I seem to remember someone chowing down on a barbeque at the Fourth of July festival the following month.”
She shrugged. “Sleeping in a tree is no fun, and I realized I didn’t care much for protesting. Or being a vegetarian. I’m much more suited for the finer things in life.”
“Apparently.”
We continued our small talk, catching up on each other’s lives and whatnot. She’d been promoted within her company, taking on another territory.
“My goal is to one day gain parts of Europe. Wouldn’t it be awesome to travel to Spain or England for a career?”
“I guess,” I replied. “But doesn’t it get old? The never-ending flights and hotel stays?”
She shook her head. “I love it. My day is never boring. I’m not sure if I could ever adhere to a fixed schedule. I love being on my toes.”
“You always were the adventurous one,” I said, smiling at another memory of that pigtailed darling dangling above me in the old oak tree.
“You’re adventurous,” she insisted. “Look at this place! You took it all on by yourself. Even with Dad’s help, Mom could barely keep up. I don’t know how you manage.”
“I have no life; that’s how.”
