Turnabout Is Fair Cosplay (Escape to Love #2)

Chapter 1

Now is the summer of my discontent made bearable only by nightly reading binges, sugar, and copious amounts of caffeine. It may not be healthy, but it’s the only way I’ve found to cope with all the reason and love that keep me little company nowadays.

Oh, jeez. I’ve definitely read too much Shakespeare this week.

If fiction is a cure for infatuation, I’m going to need to read a whole lot more. Because no matter how many words, words, words I devour, I can’t stop thinking about a pair of honey-colored eyes.

Still, I probably should not have stayed up until four a.m. reading. I definitely should not have slept in on this particular July morning, but what’s a woman to do when she’s halfway through a Tolstoy novel at midnight?

“Bea, are you up?” Mom calls from the hallway.

“No!” I answer, pulling a pillow over my head, but it’s no use. A leaf blower has started up outside.

My bedroom door swings open. “Honestly, you keep the hours of a teenager,” Mom says as she pushes open my blackout drapes, sidestepping a stack of books in her way.

I hiss in the blinding sunshine. It has everything to do with my eighty-hour workweek, the depositions that I had to wade through yesterday, and nothing to do with being a full-grown woman who still sleeps in her childhood bedroom.

Twenty-six with no hope of affording a place of my own until I’m fifty-two.

I crunched the numbers a few months ago and have not recovered.

Southern California is expensive, and Del Mar, honestly, is the worst.

Mom picks up a crumpled pantsuit on the floor with her forefinger and thumb. “Looking at this mess, no one would ever know you’re a brilliant legal mind.”

“I’m not a brilliant legal mind.”

“No one who isn’t brilliant finishes Berkeley Law before they’re twenty-four.”

I roll onto my side. “Except someone dumb enough to go into corporate law.”

Mom’s nose wrinkles as she takes in my bookshelves. “Did you add to your collection?”

I survey my shelves with pride. Scattered among my many limited editions are thirty-four adorable cacti ranging from bunny ears to monkey tales, barrels to organ pipes.

The latest acquisition is a blushing pink prickly pear.

“Are you asking about my books or cacti? Because either way, the answer is yes.”

“Just move your plants to the top shelves. The last thing we want is to spend the day picking spines out of one of our little guests with tweezers. Now…” Mom pulls my duvet down and off my bed. “Hurry up and get dressed. I need your help.”

Today is my nephew’s first birthday. It is also my father’s sixtieth birthday party. That’s right—Pop-Pop, aka George McKinney, and his grandson, Eaton, are celebrating together, and my mother, Molly McKinney, has planned the party to end all parties.

I tug on a robe and head downstairs.

“Why is the gardener here on a Sunday?” I put the kettle on the stove.

Mom’s smile surfaces. “Eaton loves the smell of fresh-cut grass.”

I drop a bag of blood orange tea into a mug. “Does he also love the smell of gasoline and exhaust?” I mutter as the two-cycle engines whir outside. I shove the kitchen window shut.

“I want everything to be picture perfect.” Mom frowns. “You are going to wear something else for the party, yes?”

I shove an English muffin into my mouth. “Maybe. I’m sure there are more horrific outfits I could find than my cutoff sweats.”

Mom takes the bait. “You’re so pretty and polished when you head to work every morning.

I don’t understand why you dress like a slob on the weekend.

Maybe, at the very least, do something with all your curls instead of piling them into a messy topknot?

” Mom gasps like I do when a paralegal leaves cookies in the break room.

“I could call Jacqueline at the salon. I’m sure she could work you in this morning if you wanted to get some lowlights, bring out the auburn in your hair. ”

“Sure.” I shake my hair out and tug it into a low ponytail. “And while we’re at it, why don’t you put me down for microneedling, some dermal fillers, maybe a laser treatment, Botox.” Anything that will let me skip today’s festivities.

“Why? There’s nothing wrong with your face.” Mom pats my cheek. “Ah, to have your collagen.”

I groan. “I need to go back to bed.” I’m nursing a migraine from a week of too many late nights, too many pages turned, and too little sleep.

I need a nap, but I can’t for one simple reason.

I live here. I’m an associate at Del Mar’s premier corporate law firm and can’t afford even a condo on my own.

If I’m going to have roommates, they may as well be my parents who don’t charge me rent.

“Are you going to bite my head off if I ask a favor?” Mom’s clacking around her kitchen in a pair of red-soled kitten heels, opening and closing cupboards.

I groan again. “Can I at least have breakfast first?”

“No time.” She pulls out a crystal Waterford vase from a bottom cupboard. “I forgot to ask the florist to make an arrangement for the upstairs bathroom. Fill this with dahlias and some of my roses.” Mom hands me a pair of pruners along with the vase.

I put them on the counter and drop a bag of Earl Grey into my mug to accompany the blood orange tea. I’m going to need the caffeine. “How many people are coming today?”

“Oh, just family and a few friends.” Mom’s eyes sparkle.

I’m not buying it for a minute. Through the sliding glass doors of the adjoining family room, I can see Mom’s favorite florist and his two assistants building not only a balloon arch but a Stegosaurus out of carnations, sunflowers, and roses. “A few…hundred?”

“No! Juliet invited just her dearest friends, and of course Ryan’s family is coming.” My sister, the golden child, and her husband can do no wrong since Eaton came on the scene. They could invite enough people to fill Petco Park, and Mom would accommodate.

Mom checks her phone. “Portia and Drew’s flight landed an hour ago, and Adam volunteered to get them from the airport. They’ll be here any minute. All of my yoga buddies and of course your father’s partners and their dear ones are coming.” Mom hands me a napkin.

“Oh, is that all?” I wipe my mouth on the sleeve of my robe, just to bug her.

“Unless you ended up inviting some friends from work.”

What friends? I snort but don’t reply. Unlike Mom, I know when I’m being baited.

The kettle whistles, but Mom grabs it before I can.

“I’ve been waiting years to be a grandma, missy.

” She pours the steaming water into my mug.

“Excuse me if I want to celebrate. Until you, Portia, and Adam come to your senses, Eaton is my one and only grandchild. I’m going to enjoy this day to the fullest.”

“And Dad?” I grab a sun hat from the hooks near the fridge.

“Your father would never let me have any fun if all this was just for him, but Pop-Pop is overjoyed to be celebrating his sixtieth with the little Eaton man.”

There’s a tap on the sliding glass door, and a woman dressed in a pink chef’s coat is standing outside. “Mrs. McKinney, we’re ready to set up the cakes and macaron trees, if you’ll point us where.”

“The table by the chrysanthemum T. rex, Angela. Thank you.” Mom waves the caterer to the backyard.

“This was such a good idea. Your father really shouldn’t be eating cake all weekend, and this way I’ll be able to send home most of the baked goods with Julie.

Eaton needs more fat rolls. He’s losing them far too quickly. ”

“I think that’s supposed to happen now that he’s walking.” A couple of taco trucks pull around to the tennis court. “Mom, Portia and Drew’s wedding was smaller than this.”

Mom shudders. “Don’t remind me. Who elopes to Hawaii?”

Portia, my older sister, walks into the kitchen. “Firstborns.” She drops her Louis Vuitton duffel on the floor and a bag of oranges on the kitchen counter. “You got to let it go, Molly.”

Mom screams and quickly scurries over to give Portia a bone-crushing hug. Molly McKinney may be fun size, but she’s strong. The yoga, no doubt.

“Let me look at you. Oh, honey! You’re glowing,” Mom says.

“It’s the neon tangerine dress,” I mutter. Seriously, Portia could direct air traffic with that one.

“How was the flight? Did the ginger help Drew not vomit all over the jetway?” Before Portia can answer, Mom bear-hugs her again. “Why on earth can’t you live in California? Massachusetts is just entirely too far away.”

Drew and Adam walk in with the rest of the luggage, and Mom shrieks again, enveloping both my brother-in-law and brother in hugs and kisses.

“You made it. Did you bring your swimsuits? Was the flight okay, Drew? Traffic?”

I don’t know where Adam inherited his chill, since both our parents are textbook hyper, but he’s definitely the calming presence in the family.

“We did make it,” Adam says. “I don’t know why you’re worried about suits when you have a closet full of spares.

Traffic was fine. We would have been here sooner, but Portia wanted to stop at a roadside stand. ”

“They don’t even have oranges in Boston?” Mom says. “Move back home, and we can plant you a tree of your very own. We’ll get one of those enormous ones in a box that are fully grown and plant it with a crane. You won’t have to wait a minute before you can eat your own oranges.”

Adam hands my mom a pink box and kisses her cheek. “Where’s Pop-Pop?”

“Out golfing. I surprised him this morning with a new set of clubs. He’ll be home any minute.”

“Anything I can do?” Adam asks.

“Yeah.” I hold up the cutglass vase. “You can fill this with flowers.” But that solicits a brief glare from Mom before she turns her attention back to my brother, the baby of the family.

Mom beams at Adam. “Would you go help with the balloon arch? I want it across the pool. And then I need help inflating some of the inner tubes and floats.

“On it.” Adam smiles. “Hey, Bea.” My little brother, younger by two years and taller than me by a good nine inches, gives me a hug.