Page 1 of Lollipop
Chapter One
Lolly
Watching the leaves fall outside helps me not to lose my shit. It would be unladylike to say what I want to say about my sister right now… and my mom would probably give me that disappointed look that she so easily gives me but never my sister. I just have to remember that I have friends who really care about me, an actual business that is doing really well, and having to post bail would set that business back. Oh, and I can open doors and turn on the stove all by my little lonesome. All things I am sure my sister can't do.
“Sweetie, you’re so strong and self-sufficient, we know you can take care of all of this.”
Why is it that when Dad says words like ‘strong’ and ‘self-sufficient’ they sound like he is calling me something more akin to an orc than a woman? Can I take care of myself? Hell yes! Do I want someone to baby me and take care of me? Hell yes! One doesn't cancel out the other, damn it. And I would rather have an Orc than be one.
It’s a fucked up paradigm that even I don’t understand, okay. I just know what I want, and it is not to be treated like I am some lumberjack with hair on my chest, thank you very much, Dad!
And all of this? It’s a huge fucking farm! He thinks I can take care of myself and the fucking farm – back-breaking work that leaves you worn down and bitter if you don’t put your whole heart and soul into it. Don’t get me wrong! I love the farm. It’sbeen in my family for years and has always been my safe place, my sanctuary from all the bullshit out in the world. But can I take care of it by my fucking self? My father can’t take care of it by his own damned self. Yet, somehow, I’m supposed to do it because I’m strong and self-sufficient. Like a lumberjack.
What a load of shit!
“Don’t worry sweetie. We’ve hired someone to come help.”
“Someone to come help? Take care of the farm?”
Both of them nod.
“Oh, and the man who is thinking about buying it is also coming, so please, please be nice.” My mom is begging like I have horrible manners and just go around telling people exactly what I think about them. I’m from the South! I have impeccable manners… when I want to!
It just so happens; that this is a touchy topic for me. They want to sell a piece of property, our home, that has been in our family for years - my grandfather bought it when he first got married to my grandmother - so they can take better care of my older sister. They didn’t ask my opinion; they didn’t offer any other reason like dad’s health or mom’s inability to take care of it when he passes or that they want to spend their last days together bumming around America in a Winnebago, doing all the things they wanted to when they were younger. No! It’s because of my fucking sister.
My whole life I’ve had to take a back seat to her. She’s been the one babied by my parents, the one they coddled and took care of, the one they showed up for and would do anything for. I was always the one left on my own, abandoned and overshadowed by her big sister. It’s kind of hard not to hate Camilla, especiallywhen she is the reason I am losing my childhood home because mom and dad want to move closer to her. All because she needs help taking care of herself.
In reality, she got herself knocked up - I’m not judging at all – but won’t take care of the baby once it comes - I am totally judging that! - and wants Mom and Dad to take care of her and the baby while she gets to pretend nothing has changed. She couldn’t be a bigger self-centered, egotistical, raging asshat than she already is.
But she’s worse… she has no problem rubbing it in when shit like this happens. No problem telling me that mom and dad would do anything for her and would leave me to figure shit out all on my own if it came down to it.
“Are you listening?” My mom has pulled out that whip-fast snip that she gets in her voice when she thinks I’m being a brat.
“Yes, mom. I’m listening.” I can do two things at the same time, unlike my ditz of a sister. “Farmhand is coming to help me out and the guy who wants to buy the place is also coming. Be nice to them.”
“The farmhand should be here early tomorrow while the other guy will get here sometime tomorrow afternoon, kiddo.” My dad makes sure I have the details. Not like I care.
They are selling the place; I don’t understand why they called me to come out here and disrupt my life just so some fucking rich guy can come buy it? It makes no sense. Wouldn’t it be easier on everyone if they just moved and sold the place later? Then I could stay at my apartment in the little town an hour away from here. I could be hanging with one of my besties not waiting for some farmhand to come so he can ‘help’ me.
Instead of asking, I just nod and wait. I wait for them to leave so I can take my frustration and anger out in the only way I have ever known. I beat the shit out of some dough!
Chapter Two
Ander
When I knock and no one answers, I start to wonder if I’m going to have to turn around and look for a hotel room for the night. The Perkins told me someone would be here but that may not matter since I’m a day early. I try the knob and feel it turn in my hand. Once I’m standing in the living room, I can tell I’m not alone. Sounds of… fighting catch my attention and lead me to the back.
I am wholly unprepared for what I find in the kitchen. There isn’t a fight going on, instead, there’s something that takes my breath and leaves me feeling like I’ve been hit by a tsunami. Standing at the counter with her back turned to me is a woman, hair piled on top of her head in a messy bun, mumbling to herself as she works a wad of dough the same size as my head into a ball. She punches it, rolls it, and punches it again. Every time she hits it her breath leaves her and her breasts bounce around; the shirt isn’t doing a very good job of holding her in.
What the fuck is wrong with me? Looking at this woman like I am? Staring at her breasts? God, I really hope this isn’t Tabitha Perkins. She sounded… not like this on the phone when I made plans with her and her husband to come out and view the property. I really hope I’m not lusting after another man’s wife. But how can I look away?
How can I not fall the fuck in love with this… force of a woman in front of me?
I clear my throat, but she still doesn’t act like she’s aware of me. And why the fuck do I hate that so much? Why would I resent the fact she isn’t turning her attention my way and keeping it there? What the hell is wrong with me?
She turns to the side of the counter and must catch me out of the corner of her eye because she screams and, all in the space of a blink of an eye, pulls earbuds from her ear while reaching for a large knife on the counter. For a pregnant moment, we stare at one another, her beautiful green eyes clashing with mine as I take my first look at her face. Should I be concerned about the fact she just pulled a knife on me? Probably. Do I care? No, not really.
“Who the hell are you? What are you doing in my house?”