Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
Wyn
“There’s no way anything is going to survive out here,” I mumble to myself.
Water siphons through the hose and the makeshift irrigation system at a glacial pace.
It was an awful idea to take on a garden project at the end of the summer.
And now, looking around at the mess of overgrown grass and weeds, I second-guess my plan of trying to build this all on my own.
I thought this was brilliant. Tackle the outside once the inside had been renovated.
Tommy runs the B do I really need to educate you on BDE? And stop derailing the focus of this discussion.”
Yeah, she’s on fire today.
“You’re unhinged, you realize that, right?” Jo says as she rounds the pile of clothes and shoes.
“I’m very self-aware,” Stevie answers, turning her attention to me and rolling off the bed to get closer to where I’m standing and enjoying my cake. “Wynnie, I will take you off the schedule if you tell me. I need to know what the hell went on with you and Julian.”
The reality is, I’m going to talk to my sisters about all of it, regardless.
Jo sucks in an audible breath that has Stevie and me turning to look at what she’s pulled out of the bag. Holding up a vintage pair of Jimmy Choos that I thought had been lost, she says, “YOU had them this whole time! You sneaky slutbag.”
Stevie cackles, and then sticks out her tongue. “I’m older than you, which means I get dibs on the good ones.” She glances at me. “I want the Manolos and Tecovas.”
Jo buckles the straps of the black pumps and kicks her legs up high before she stands. Walking over to the full-length mirror in my bedroom space, she admires them. They really are the sexiest heels I’ve ever seen. In the reflection, Jo looks at me.
“I don’t know who you are.” She points my way.
“The whole professor vibe is a flex. I mean, you’re a badass for basically telling Mom to shove it after she called you stupid your senior year in high school.
But having an obvious fling with a semi-famous artist feels like a whole new level of badassery I don’t think we’ve accounted for.
” She winks at me in the reflection of the mirror and adds, “You, more than anyone, deserve blips of good and happiness, Wyn. And maybe that’s with a sexy jeweler . . .”
I cross my arms over my chest, shoving down the emotion that surfaces at hearing her say that. I want that too. And there’s a part of me that wants to be behind that bar with them—it’s not who I was, but maybe that doesn’t matter.
“Oh, I’m almost certain that Wyn has an entirely different side that we’ve never had the pleasure of seeing before,” Stevie says, moving over toward my wardrobe.
When I look over at Stevie again, she’s pulling out a pair of jean cutoffs and chucks them on my bed, followed by a pair of Louboutin booties I thought I’d never see again.
My jaw drops. “You had the booties too?!” I shout at her.
She shrugs her shoulders, then gets back to it. “Where do you think they met?” she asks Jo.
I send her an exasperated look, eyebrows raising. “Remember when you wanted me to call you out for being a dick?”