The Life List by Lori Nelson Spielman Read Free Book Online Page A

Pig, in Lincoln Park, our favorite non-alcohol spot. It’s cozy and funky, filled with books and antiques and threadbare rugs. And best of all, there’s just enough background chatter to make us feel immune from eavesdroppers. Today the warm September sun beckons us outside, where Megan sits at a wrought-iron table wearing black leggings and a low-cut sweater that clings to the perfect mounds she insists are her real boobs. Her pale blue eyes are smudged with smoky gray shadow, and I’m guessing at least three coats of mascara. But with her blond hair captured in a silver barrette and a hint of pink blush on her ivory skin, she manages to maintain a smidgen of innocence, making her appear half call girl, half sorority girl—a look men seem to find irresistible.
    Engrossed in her iPad, she doesn’t notice us as we near her table. I grab Shelley’s elbow and pull her to a stop.
    “We can’t interrupt her. Look, she’s actually working.”
    Shelley shakes her head. “She’s a poser.” She pulls me nearer and nods at the computer screen. “Check it out. PerezHilton.com.”
    “Hey, y’all,” Megan says, grabbing her sunglasses from the chair just before Shelley sits on them. “Listen to this.” As we settle in beside her with our muffins and lattes, Megan launches into a riff about Angelina and Brad’s latest scuffle and Suri’s outlandish birthday party. Then she starts in on Jimmy. “Red Lobster. Seriously. I’m wearing an Hervé Léger bandage dress cut up to my ass, and he wants to take me to Red-fucking-Lobster!”
    I believe everyone deserves that one outrageously bold friend who simultaneously mortifies and electrifies, the friend whose crude comments send us into fits of hysteria while we look over our shoulders to make sure nobody’s listening. Megan is that friend.
    We met Meg two years ago through Shelley’s younger sister, Patti. Patti and Megan were roommates in Dallas, training to be flight attendants with American Airlines. But in the final week of training, Megan wasn’t able to reach a bag wedged in the back of an overhead bin. Her arms were decidedly too short for the job, an imperceptible flaw Megan is now obsessed with. Mortified, she fled to Chicago to become a realtor, and met Jimmy during her first sale.
    “I can’t lie, I love those Red Lobster biscuits, but come on!”
    Finally, Shelley interrupts. “Megan, I told you, Brett needs our help.”
    Megan taps her iPad into submission and folds her hands on the table. “Okay, I’m all yours. What’s the problem, chica?”
    When it’s not all about her, Megan can be an excellent listener. And judging by her folded hands and fixed gaze, today she’s giving me the floor. Taking full advantage, I spill every detail of my mother’s ploy to destroy my life.
    “So that’s the deal. No income, no job. Just ten asinine goals I’m expected to complete in the next year.”
    “That’s bullshit,” Megan says. “Tell the attorney to go fuck himself.” She plucks the list from my hand. “H AVE A KID . G ET A DOG . G ET A HORSE. ” She lifts her Chanel sunglasses and gazes at me. “What the hell was your mother thinking? You’d up and marry Old MacDonald?”
    I can’t help but smile. Megan can be self-centered, but at times like this when I need a laugh, I wouldn’t trade her for a dozen Mother Teresas.
    “And Andrew’s about as far from Old MacDonald as you can get,” Shelley says, pouring another packet of sugar into her coffee. “What does he think of all this? Is he prepared to step up? Give you babies?”
    “Buy you a horse?” Megan adds, erupting in high-pitched giggles.
    “He is,” I say, pretending to examine my spoon. “I’m sure he is.”
    Megan’s eyes dance. “I’m sorry. I just don’t see how you’re going to manage a horse in the middle of downtown Chicago. Does your building allow pets?”
    “You’re hilarious, Meg.” I rub my temples. “I’m beginning to think my mom was out of her mind. What