Lauren Takes Leave by Gerstenblatt, Julie (ebooks children's books free txt) 📕

recently. Two kids later, and she stillhas a fabulous behind. It’s not natural.

What kind of a moron debunks a myth in a guy’s head aboutthe shapeliness of her ass? Really, Lauren, I scold myself. Flirtwiser. He can’t see you, so what’s the difference? Honest at all the wrongtimes, I swear.

I surf through Amazon while waiting for Lenny’s response andorder a new thriller about this guy who stalks women through Facebook.

From: [email protected]

Lovely image of you with Lila’s ass. Did you touch it atall? Maybe rub up against it accidentally on purpose with your arm orsomething? Could you at least just pretend for me? Give a lonely guy somethingto work with?

Hey—are you going to be up for a while? I have something I’dlike to show you.

From: [email protected]

I’m not sure I want to see that.

From: [email protected]

It’s my new video, douche.

From: [email protected]

You didn’t just call me that, did you?

From: [email protected]

What? Great ’80s term. I’m bringing it back.

From: [email protected]

Okay, but I think it’s like totally grody to the max to calla woman a douche bag. Maybe this is why you don’t have a girlfriend. Just aguess.

From: [email protected]

Speaking of which, it’s too bad you and I never dated. Couldhave been hot, going south of the border together.

Where was this offer in 1988, I want to know? I get up fromthe computer and stretch, digging through the cupboards. There is solace inchocolate-covered gummy bears.

I chew through a few potential responses before deciding onone that doesn’t make me sound like my inner wounded, prom-dateless teenager.

From: [email protected]

Yes, tres mal. I often wonder how my life might have turnedout if only I had let you into my pants.

From: [email protected]

I detect sarcasm.

From: [email protected]

Really? Can’t imagine why.

From: [email protected]

Lauren. Maybe I’m being serious.

I physically pull away from the computer, my face flushed. Ineed to remember where this is coming from. Lenny Katzenberg, awarded BiggestFlirt honors in high school, who has been engaged twice and gotten cold feetboth times. Lenny, who used to scan the room at high school keg parties,looking bored, while I tried to make him laugh and he ignored me.

From: [email protected]

You only want what you can’t have.

From: [email protected]

Debatable. But in any case, I need your help with my latestproject. I need your Aegean blue—I mean, honest and insightful—eyes to critiqueit before I post. Will you do that for me, no strings attached?

From: [email protected]

What if I hate it?

From: [email protected]

You won’t. It’s awesome, like I am in all things.

From: [email protected]

Hubris: look it up. You are not supposed to declaregreatness at anything, lest the gods smite you with their wrath.

From: [email protected]

I thought if I came on strong with machismo, you’d fall atmy feet. No?

Next time, I will go for sensitive, poet-type come-on.

Video’s going to be ready for viewing in two hours. You upfor that? What’s your ETS?

From: [email protected]

Not up for it. Estimated time to sleep is in about 10minutes, max. Too bad we’re not in the same place. Then I could roll over andgo to sleep and you could nudge me awake when you’re ready for an audience.

From: [email protected]

Don’t even put that image in my mind. How am I going to worknow?

From: [email protected]

Alone, I guess.

I erase and destroy all the e-mails from tonight, then logoff, slightly embarrassed that I could be so forward. My online persona justkind of took over there. I’m like some kind of modern-day Cyrano, whisperingall the great lines from behind my computer screen. If faced with flirting withLenny face-to-face, I’d turn about a thousand shades of purple and choke on myown tongue.

Still another hour before Doug gets home.

Just before quitting out of the computer, I decide to goback on Facebook to update my status.

I click into the empty box, and the question “What’s onyour mind?” stares back at me, waiting for an answer.

Everything? Nothing? I don’t know what. Fill in theblank, I guess, like on one of my very own horrendous, multiple-choice grammarquizzes. I imagine scanning the page for the right answer, increasingly nervousas the minutes tick by and the correct choice eludes me.

I leave the space blank and log off the computer.

Then I scribble a friendly little Post-it note to Doug,like he’s my college roommate, and stick it on the fridge. After dumping theempty chardonnay bottle in the recycling bin and hiding it under some sodacans, I turn off the lights and make my way to bed.

Only, I can’t sleep.

Thirty minutes later, the mechanical buzz of the garagedoor triggers in me a mild but certain dread. Doug parks the car and enters thehouse. He moves around the kitchen a bit, and I follow the trail of sounds ashe turns on the faucet for a drink of water, riffles through some papers, andsearches for something to snack on in the cabinets.

Then I hear him set the alarm and climb the stairs.

In the darkness, I picture Lenny. And Dr. Grossman. AndSweetheart and Brandon.

I picture Doug’s tennis league and wonder if he ever liesabout where he’s going and who he’s with.

“You awake?” he whispers.

I feel him studying me as his vision adjusts to thedarkness.

Playing possum, I keep my eyelids gently shut. I try tothink of dreamlike scenarios the way a method actor would to convincinglyportray deep sleep—I’m on the beach; I’ve won the lottery; someone’s chasingme, only I can’t run—No, no, no, not that kind of dream, Lauren, I scoldmyself—stay calm! Shallow intakes of breath, keep the rhythm steady.

“Lauren?”

When I don’t respond, he pads across the carpeting andinto the bathroom, shutting the door gently behind him.

Doug showers and changes into pajamas—boxers and a whiteHanes T-shirt, I know even with my eyes closed—slides into bed next to me andpromptly falls asleep.

Now the only sound in the house is the slight pounding ofmy guilt-ridden forehead.

Chapter 10

Wednesday

As I am waiting for the Amtrak to arrive, a garbled voicecomes over the speaker, announcing a thirty-minute delay northbound. I take aseat on a concrete bench and wait it out, hoping this delay isn’t some signfrom God that I shouldn’t be making the trip.

Forehead feels the same, though there is some slightbruising that I covered with makeup. Don’t know what I expected, but a