Lucky Break by J. Minter Read Free Book Online Page A

Broadway. “Spill it.”
    By the time we got to Bloomingdale’s, my momknew all the gory Alex details, and she’d given me a week’s worth of full-body hugs (I stopped counting at about thirteen). Mom was always great to talk to, but tonight she was being especially supportive.
    â€œI didn’t know I could cry this much,” I said, wincing when I caught a glimpse of my mascara-streaked face in the mirror above the icebox.
    â€œYou’re a woman. Women are tear factories,” my mom said. “The good news is you’re also a Flood, which is how I know you’re going to get through this. Men will come and go, you know that. But a Flood will—”
    â€œI know, I know: a Flood will never crash.” It was what my parents had been telling us our whole lives—whenever Patch failed an exam at Princeton, or when one of Feb’s movies didn’t get funded—all of life’s little upsets were met with the very same mantra. Sometimes it made me feel better to know that I came from a family with such strength, but today, it made my stomach hurt. It felt like too little, too late. Did I have to tell my mom that this Flood might have already crashed at the first mention of the word
Cookie
?
    As my mom and I walked into Bloomingdale’s toward the spa upstairs, I couldn’t stop looking at all the new spring clothes and beach-themed displays set up to woo shoppers on their way to sunny locales. Itwas yet another reminder that my spring break was going to completely suck.
    â€œWhat’s with the face?” my mom asked, steering me into the calming back room of the spa. “Did you want the hot stone instead of the Swedish?”
    â€œNo, I love the Swedish. It’s just that … well,” I stammered. “All my friends are leaving for Paris tonight. I guess I’m just practicing my solo-wallowing face for the rest of spring break.”
    My mom shot me a look like I was crazy. “Nonsense,” she said. “You’ll come to the Amalfi Coast with your father and me. It’ll be just the thing.” She nodded once before stepping into the dressing room to change into her white terry cloth robe. Her tone suggested that there was no question that a trip to Italy was exactly what I needed.
    â€œReally?” I brightened. I reached for my own robe and slipped out of my TwillTwentyTwo cargo pants in the dressing room next to my mom. “I wouldn’t be in the way?”
    â€œDarling, don’t make me beg,” my mom joked. “Your father wants to go cheese tasting, of all things. I’ll need a companion for scoping out those dark-haired Italian stallions. Of course, we’ll just look. And of course you’re coming. I’ll make a call. Can you be ready to leave tonight?”
    â€œI’m a Flood,” I said, using my mom’s favorite phrase.
    We both came out of the dressing room at the same time and she gave me my umpteenth hug of the afternoon. “Good,” she said. “Now enjoy your massage and we’ll talk packing strategies once we’re both refreshed.”
    I stepped into the dimly lit massage room, my spirits partially lifted. I hung my robe on the door and climbed onto the cool padded massage mat, pulling the terry cloth blanket over me. The Bloomingdale’s spa always carried the store’s best soy candles, so the whole room smelled like vanilla and pomegranate. I had almost fallen into a restful sleep, when I felt some very therapeutic hands on my shoulders.
    â€œI’m Helga,” the masseuse said soothingly. “I am here to take care of your every need. What concerns you this afternoon?”
    â€œWell,” I said, surprising myself by opening up to the masseuse, “I do have a bit of a broken heart.”
    â€œMmm.” I could feel her nodding over me. “Then I’ll give you the ‘scorned lover.’ In eleven years of practicing, it’s