Just My Luck by Adele Parks (best interesting books to read TXT) 📕

considering everything we shared up until this point in our lives. Like secrets, chicken pox, crushes, hairbrushes, homework, lip gloss. The list is endless. We created things, too—memories, friendship bracelets, rose perfume in jam jars. And Ridley? Well, we’ve done so much together. We’ve curled up on a sofa watching Disney movies, telling ourselves we were only enjoying them in an ironic nostalgic way, but in fact loving them for real, in an authentic way. We’ve played Chicken Wing Roulette at Nando’s, we’ve Christmas-shopped in London, we went to our first gig together.

We’ve made a baby.

I need to talk to Ridley, I suppose. Although how am I going to say what I have to? It kills me, but I miss him so much. It’s so uncool of me not to just straightforward kick-him-out-of-bed-hate-him. I didn’t know until now that it was possible to hate and love a person at the same time. I miss the way when I’m with him I feel strangely light-headed. The way he moves, effortless and loose, thick hair, dark and curly. Backpack flung over his shoulder. I used to cling to his other shoulder as casually, as intrinsically. I miss the feel of his hands on me. I miss the way he throws back his head when he laughs, exposing his lumpy Adam’s apple. His laugh is the best if I’ve caused it. I miss the conversations we had. “What’s your greatest fear?” He asked me this as he trailed kisses up and down my thigh and hip. His lips were gentle, tender and yet also hot. Right then, I had none. No fears at all. He made me fearless.

“Weird question,” I pointed out.

He smiled. “Yes, I guess it is. I was hoping you’d say, losing me.” He looked shy, sheepish. I grinned.

“Yeah, that’s it,” I replied, indulging him. He came toward me and kissed my mouth. Through his kisses, I murmured, “Losing you and not doing this again are my fears.”

He momentarily stopped kissing me and stared at me with a fabulous intensity, his dark eyes boring into me, like he knew me inside out. “Then you are totally safe. Which is all I want. I want to protect you and keep you safe forever.”

This was quite caveman as an approach, but it bothered me less than it should.

The conversations we had were the sort you can’t have with anyone else, not even Megan. I miss the musty smell of his balls. Obviously, I hate him, too.

Or maybe not obviously. Not at all.

“Dad, are you going to ask Jennifer and Fred to the party?” I ask as we are examining Sara’s map and timing plan of the evening’s flow.

“Your mum isn’t keen.”

“Yeah, but they’ve apologized, right? And set the record straight about them not being in the lottery.”

“You think I should forgive them?”

Dad keeps his eyes on the plan. He marks up a suggestion in pencil, swapping the crepe stall with the taco cabin, so that the sweet options are all on one side of the big marquee and the savory on another. I’m not sure it should be regimented, but don’t want to get into it with him as we might get off track. It’s because he seems caught up in something else that I feel I dare admit, “Maybe.”

“What if they bring Ridley along? Do you want to see him?”

“God, Dad, no. No way.” Yes. Yes, more than anything. “I mean, if they bring him along, I’m cool with that, but I don’t want to see him.”

Dad looks at me now. Steadily. Unblinking, he searches my face for something. Whatever he was looking for he must be satisfied as he says, “I might ask them, then, if you are okay with it.”

I shrug. Dad gets me.

CHAPTER 26

Lexi

Monday, May 20

I look out of the window and see that the dark gray cloud, which has hovered all day, has now swollen to stretch across the entire sky. Rain is imminent. I wonder how much progress my family has made today. Jake, Emily and Logan are all at the party site helping pitch the marquee. Actually, if only that was true, then I’d be there with them lending a hand. To be accurate, they are standing about watching other people mow the field, pitch the marquee, lay the dance floor inside the marquee. I haven’t joined them because I don’t want to endorse our children’s idleness and increasing belief, encouraged by Jake, that they can pay someone else to do everything for them.

We now have a cleaner and she does our ironing, too. She’s a lovely woman and I’m sure Jake’s right, I probably will get used to the idea of someone throwing bleach down my loo and emptying the bathroom bin. Eventually. I can’t deny that our house has never been tidier; in fact, it’s immaculate as it has benefited from two thorough goings-over this week, the first one done by me before our cleaner arrived.

As much as Jake loves his brand-new Ferrari, which he took delivery of last week, he doesn’t clean it himself. Yesterday he got someone to come around to do a specialist inside-and-out clean, even though it’s only a whisper away from pristine. Certainly, a far cry from the state we used to allow the old family Volvo to get into. The inside of that always reflected the fact it had served years of hard labor ferrying us around. A foot deep of crisp packets, banana skins and Diet Coke cans was the norm. Whenever I drove it, I kept the window down an inch to try to disperse the stench of rotting food, sweaty sports kits and dried mud. Jake has got rid of the Volvo. He’s bought a new Audi Q7. In metallic brown. It’s undeniably gorgeous. He says it’s my car.

“Mine?” I wouldn’t have chosen brown.

“Well, the family car. You know, because we can’t all fit into the Ferrari.”

I haven’t had a chance to drive the Audi yet, but I have been a passenger and it