Page 92 of Almost Beautiful (Beautiful 3)

“Yes, you will.”

“One last thing,” she said, serious. “The date.”

“I assume you have one chosen.”

“Well, it just made sense to me to do it on your first anniversary. It falls on spring break next year, but it’s on a Sunday so we’d miss at least the first day back to classes after break.”

I tried not to smile but failed. Our first anniversary had seemed so far away until that very second. I would be married to Travis Maddox for an entire year, and then we’d start on our second.

“What? You’re making a weird face.”

I laughed once, looking down. “I just … love him.”

“March twenty-first, then?” she asked, putting the notebook away.

“March twenty-first.”

One of the bigger Becker boys jumped into the pool holding his knees to his chest, sending a wall of water over America and me. We both gasped, sitting up with our mouths open.

“Mare!” I said too late.

She stood, beach bag in hand, dripping wet while she slid her bare feet into her shoes. “You little shits! The best parts of you ran down your momma’s leg!”

Everyone in the pool froze, staring at us.

“Oh, hell,” I said, gathering my things and sliding on my cut-off jean shorts. “Let’s go before Marsha hears about what you said.”

“I hope she hears it!” America screeched. “Someone needs to tell her! Her kids are little beasts! You’re vile!” she yelled, stomping out of the gate toward my apartment. “Tell your mom the community pool is not a fucking babysitter!” She pointed at one. “And you need a haircut!” She pointed at another. “And you need braces! Jesus Christ, I would be embarrassed if I had this herd of obnoxious brats for children! You know why your mother’s not here with you? Because she’s sitting at home, hiding from society, humiliated at the horrible job she’s done!”

“Oh my fuck, America, you’ve lost your mind. Walk. Walk!” I commanded.

The Becker boys cackled, overjoyed at America’s reaction.

“I will have daughters and they will be well-mannered!” she said, pointing in all directions. She looked insane.

“You just jinxed yourself,” I said, walking with her to my apartment. “Now you’re destined to have a bunch of rowdy, repugnant boys.”

“No, I won’t. Twin girls in pristine white dresses, who will slap the shit out of boys like the Beckers.”

Finch stepped out from between buildings, wearing all-white that practically glowed in the hot summer sun. “Ladies, you’re looking … sweaty. And flushed.”

America opened her arms wide. “You look like you need a hug.”

He lowered his sunglasses to look her up and down, unimpressed. “This is Gucci. Don’t you dare.” He replaced his glasses. “Abby, can I see you in my office?” He gestured to where he’d walked from. “Alone?”

I could tell America was trying very hard not to be offended, but her expression gave her away.

“It’s uh … something you shouldn’t hear.”

“So Finch can know but I can’t?”

“He doesn’t know anything. I just had him talk to Adam for Travis.”

“So why am I being dismissed? You know I would never repeat anything.”

I glanced around. “It’s not about that, Mare. I’m trying to protect you.”

“But not Finch?” she asked, unconvinced.