100 Days of Cake by Shari Goldhagen Read Free Book Online Page A

alone.
    â€œMom, we’re fine.”

    When Mom leaves, Elle suggests we move into “the sa-lon,” stretching out the word so it sounds ridiculous. It’s not really a salon but a bonus room (another upgrade) that the model-home stager had set up like an old-timey parlor, with heavy velvet curtains and French-empire-inspired furniture. It always looks as though some lesser royal might be dropping by for tea. At the old house, we spent most of our time on this splintery wooden swing in the backyard. The salon chairs are way more comfortable, but it’s still kind of weird.
    My house has always been kind of a second home to Elle and her little brother. Until they got divorced, her parents were constantly screaming at each other. Now they’restill constantly screaming at each other from across state lines. While not having a dad sucks, it’s probably still better than having Mr. Lovell. And even when she’s not ranting at or about her ex-husband, Elle’s mom is hardly ever around in any real way either. Because our old house was kind of Elle’s place too, she might be even more weirded out by the model home than V and I are.
    â€œSo seriously, what was up with V’s hoochie mama getup?” Elle asks. “Was she going cock shopping?”
    Elle has never kissed anyone , and that bothers her a whole lot more than she lets on.
    â€œIt was kind of like a nip slip waiting to happen.”
    â€œNot to be a sexist troll—obviously a woman has the right to wear whatever she wants.” Elle remembers she is an outspoken opponent of rape culture.
    I shrug and wonder if maybe V was going “cock shopping.” Wonder if she’s sleeping with any of the guys at the party. As the big sis, I always figured I’d lose my virginity first (in my head it was always with some Zac Efron/Channing Tatum hybrid in a hotel in Venice or one of those other romantic places from the movies), and then I used to imagine telling V about it when we were cuddled under the blankets on Mom’s bed, watching old sitcom reruns like we used to do in the old house.
    Before T.J. decided I wasn’t who he thought I’d be and broke up with me, we got to about second base. (At least Ithink it was second base; everyone I talk to uses a different scale. Like, some people think that first base is kissing, but someone else says that’s more like the on-deck circle. And no one seems to know if third base is a handy j or a blow job.) There was over-the-bra groping, but no crucial pieces of clothing were removed. By the time we’d started doing that, I didn’t really feel like talking to anyone anymore. I didn’t tell V or even Elle. If V is sleeping with someone, she probably wouldn’t tell me either.
    â€œIt’s obviously her prerogative”—Elle is still talking— “but it was like your sister was ready for a Girls Gone Wild audition.”
    â€œI thought she looked kind of pretty,” I say, which is the truth.
    â€œIf that’s your thing.” She looks serious. “Do you think Chris really didn’t invite us back because of what I said about natural pool cleaners?”
    â€œNaw, he probably just figured V or Alex would let us know.”
    She nods, but we both know it’s not true.
    â€œAre you worried Alex might be there with Meredith Hoffman?” she asks.
    I remember Dr. B. saying the whole dating debacle was Alex’s issue, not mine, and I brighten a little. “I don’t know. Dr. Brooks thinks Alex sounds kind of immature anyway,” I say.
    â€œOh, he does, does he?”
    â€œYeah, and he gave me a ride home yesterday. Isn’t that sweet?”
    Elle practically chokes on her cake.
    â€œMol, that is so not appropriate.” She says this in the same voice she used to chew out Cell Phone Dad at the ice cream stand—as if this is something that everyone should know and it’s an insult to the