From Scratch Read Online Free

before Annabelle complains about a muffin top.”
    Wes flinches, and his Adam’s apple bobs. He picks at a small hole in the hem of his sleeve, his eyes glued to a smudge on the sidewalk. When he finally meets my gaze, I’m stunned by the grief written on his face. He takes a deep breath, as though bracing himself for something horrible.
    “Annabelle isn’t . . . we’re not . . . didn’t she . . .” he says, fumbling over his words. “We ended things this past spring.”
    The air leaves my lungs in a long whoosh, rendering me speechless. Wes and Annabelle are a modern-day fairy tale—childhood sweethearts hopelessly devoted to one another. Their edges fit.
    Or so I thought.
    Wes may be my oldest friend, but Annabelle has been my best friend since she sat next to me in Mrs. Hubbard’s fourth-grade social studies class with her Lisa Frank unicorn folders, all rosy cheeks and glasses and lace-trim ankle socks. We talk on the phone every week, but not once during our conversations did she ever say, “Hey, Lillie, remember Wes? That guy I’ve been slaphappy in love with since he held my hand on the Texas Star Ferris wheel in seventh grade? Well, we broke up six months ago. Kisses!”
    Why didn’t she say anything?
    “I’m sorry, Wes,” I say, biting my lip. “She never told me.”
    He kicks a stray napkin with the tip of his shoe. “It’s all right. She obviously doesn’t want to talk about it, and I really don’t want to, either.” He opens his mouth like he’s going to say something else, but then he closes it.
    “I’ve got a good one for you,” I say, remembering the joke I heard from a little boy at the airport.
    “Yeah?” I see his shoulders relax, the tension flowing out like salt from a shaker.
    “A friend got some vinegar in his ear. Now—”
    Wes clamps a hand over my mouth. “Now he suffers from pickled hearing.”
    My jaw drops open. That weasel stole my punch line. “How did you . . . ?”
    “Please, Jelly Bean. That was third-grade level,” he says with a smug smile.
    “Fine.” I cross my arms. “Bet you can’t guess this one. Why did the sesame seed refuse to leave the casino?”
    He taps his chin. “I give up.”
    “Because he was on a roll.”
    Wes laughs, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Damn. I missed you. Those jokes never get old. Wait till Nick hears them.” His grin falters, as though realizing whose name he said. Nick, the one person we don’t talk about and the only one I wish I could forget.
    A fist squeezes around my heart. I’ve been so careful, tiptoeing around Nick’s memories so as not to trigger them like land mines. But now they’re surging up, pulling me under—him, bleary-eyed and exhausted, dragging into our living room after another brutal shift at the hospital. Me, desperate and pleading for him to listen, tears tumbling down my cheeks. The two of us staring numbly at each other across a chasm so wide it could never be bridged. Nick’s angry words and my whispered good-bye as I walked out the front door, leaving him behind.
    The images seem like snippets from someone else’s life.
    Proof this isn’t home anymore.
    Not for me, anyway.

THREE

    WES AGREES TO distract my father so I can sneak away. I have a career to save and precious time has already been wasted. As much as my father would disagree, my life doesn’t stop for his whims or demands.
    I set up a makeshift office in the Prickly Pear, a café-slash-used-bookstore-slash-live-music-joint and an old favorite haunt. After ordering a large, extra foam, skim, vanilla chai latte, I claim the corner table and boot up my laptop.
    My inbox is flooded with emails, most of which are from Ben, another consultant on the product launch. He’d never miss an opportunity to gloat, especially after he was put in charge today. In my absence, he pitched the distribution concepts to the Kingsbury Enterprises executive board. I can see him in his three-piece suit and horn-rimmed glasses