The Spinster Sisters Read Online Free Page B

mom’s diamond studs. It makes me feel very frumpy. Actually, Jill frequently makes me feel a little frumpy. She is built like Dad was, tall, long legs. She has the most amazing clavicle I’ve ever seen and never struggles with her weight. I, on the other hand, seem to most favor Grandma Spingold, short, round, heavy of hip and breast, like a Russian farmwife, and just sniffing too deeply as I walk by a bakery can add a pound to my ample frame. The fact that Jill also got the good hair seems like insult to injury. It’s a good thing she is my favorite person and best friend, or I might have to hate her.
    “You and Hunter going out tonight?” I ask her, faking innocence. Hunter is her boyfriend of almost one year. He’s a really great guy, definitely the best boyfriend she’s ever had, and the only one I’ve ever approved of without reservations or caveats. The aunts are madly in love with him.
    “Yep. He’s picking me up in an hour.” She grabs her purse and jacket. “Shall we?”
    We leave her apartment and head down the stairs to the first floor. I love this building. Buying it was Jill’s genius idea. It’s a great old three-flat brownstone in Palmer Square, just a few blocks from where we grew up. And while the aunts were sad to leave the old family place, having grown up in it themselves, the idea of us all living in the same building again was too tempting. The fact that the old family place garnered nearly two million dollars, allowing them both a tidy annual income and securing their golden years, didn’t hurt.
    I have the third-floor apartment, Jill has the second floor, and the aunts are on the first floor. We have laundry and storage in the basement. All the benefits of living together, but with plenty of privacy. Even if it does mean having to sneak boys out the back door for the sake of decorum.
    Aunt Ruth opens the door in a haze of Shalimar, her spiky burgundy-colored hair pushed off her forehead with a pair of black-rimmed glasses. “Hello, darlings,” she says, kissing us on both cheeks. “Shirley is just pulling the nibbles out of the oven, and I’m manning the bar.”
    We head inside and flop on the overstuffed couch in the front parlor. Something savory and buttery smelling is wafting in the air. We can hear the ice rattle in the cocktail shaker. All is right with the world.
    Jill leans into me and whispers, “Where’d you run off to after the show today? I finished talking to John, and you were gone.” John is the producer of our Thursday satellite radio show, Lunch with the Spinster Sisters , coming to you live from twelve to two central time at number 187 on your XM dial.
    “I got abducted.” I grin at her.
    “I thought you looked happy. Sneaky bitch. Ben?” she asks.
    Ben is my other beau at the moment, my aforementioned Saturday night conflict, and the antithesis of Abbot. He’s brand-new, just met him a few weeks ago, and he is wooing me like crazy, which, I have to say, feeds my ego enormously. Twenty-eight, graphic designer, rides a bike everywhere. Fun, spontaneous, a little bit of ADD but not in an annoying way. “Nope, Abbot.”
    “The Silver Fox? Really? In the afternoon? On a workday? I’d have thought he’d be too busy scaling some corporate walls to plunder and pillage. You must have him really smitten.”
    “What can I say? The man can’t stop thinking about me.”
    “Well, who could blame him?” She winks. “No wonder your cheeks are so pink and glowing. When did he leave?”
    “About twenty minutes ago.”
    “You and your back-door Johnnies.” We giggle. Lucky for me, Jill doesn’t think I’m a slut. She knows that since Brant and I split I need to keep my relationships noncommittal and varied. And that I’m a little bit of a slut.
    Aunt Ruth reappears with the cocktail tray.
    “Darlings, today we are sampling a classic Gibson, made with Skyy vodka, dry vermouth, and your aunt Shirley’s homemade pickled onions.” She deftly fills the four