Fancy White Trash by Marjetta Geerling Read Free Book Online

counter, he finds a pair of metallic flip-flops in the same shade of blue as the dress in the bargain bin and adds them to our pile.
    â€œThe dress is way hotter on you than those shorts from the sales rack. And you should definitely stay away from crew-necks, Abby. How many times do I have to tell you? Scoop or V, scoop or V.”
    I let him lecture me because he’s paying, but I’m not really worried about necklines. The truth is, I’ve got more important things on my mind. Like how the sundress is the perfect outfit for launching the One True Love Plan and that now I’ll be able to save some of my back-to-school clothing money for the New York Fund. Thank you, Barbara Jennings and your generous Visa card. Thank you very much.
    Cody and I search the food court for my family. We find Kait sitting by herself at a table for four. The remains of a Big Mac meal litter the tray in front of her. I dodge some mall traffic and cut to her table. Cody follows.
    â€œWhere’s everybody?”
    Kait folds a napkin in half and dabs at the special-sauce splotch on her protruding belly. “I don’t know. Shelby took Hannah to Supercuts. I was hungry. She said she’d meet us here.”
    â€œAnd here we are.” Shelby slides into the seat across from Kait. Hannah runs up and grabs my leg.
    Staring down at her, I’m struck by how much she looks like Shelby and Mom. The bowl cut is trimmed, and now her light-blue eyes dominate her rosy face. “Abby!” she sings, “Abby, Abby!”
    â€œHey there, Hannah-doll.” I hug her with one arm. “Nice haircut.”
    â€œMom, too!” she squeaks at me.
    â€œJust a trim,” Shelby says, fingering the ends. “Terence was working today.”
    â€œShelby!” Kait and I say together. Terence is psycho-ex #2. Hair stylist and stalker, all in one. Thankfully, #1 moved to Taos a year ago, but Terence was harder to shake. He still cruises by the house a few times a month in his Windstar, but at least he’s stopped calling at all hours of the night.
    â€œWhat were you thinking?” I ask, hefting Hannah up to my hip.
    â€œHe didn’t charge me for Hannah or my trim,” Shelby answers, as if she is entitled to freebies, and riling up a semi-retired stalker is no big deal. “Shouldn’t we head back to the car?”
    Kait stares across the food court, and her face goes from mopey to giddy in two seconds flat. I follow her gaze and see Mom and the Guitar Player in the pretzel line.
    Shelby notices, too, because she says, “Give it up, Kait. He’s with her now. Believe me, the competition’s over and the winner’s been announced.”
    â€œYou would see it as a competition,” Kait complains. She rubs her belly like it’s a crystal ball. “But we’re going to be a family. This is his baby.”
    â€œSays you.” Shelby’s knowing grin stretches across her face.
    Kait points a french fry at Shelby. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
    Shelby snags the fry and pops it in her mouth. “It means, you say the baby’s his. We all know there’s another guy who’s just as likely to be the father.”
    Before, their bickering was just the normal Savage-family backdrop, but at this, my attention sharpens. Because I know exactly who the other guy is, and I happen to be holding a whole bag full of shorts and T-shirts for him.
    â€œShe’s due in mid-September,” I point out. They both look surprised that I’ve joined the conversation, but what I said is true. And September minus nine equals December, which is when Kait and the Guitar Player first hooked up. Not November. Not Jackson.
    â€œAgain, according to Kait.” Shelby shifts in her seat, sees Cody, and looks the other way. “I guess we’ll find out when the baby’s actually born.”
    â€œLet’s just go,” Cody says as Mom and the Guitar Player walk