Page 1 of The Love Bus

SPOILED LEFTOVERS

“Y ou’re not watching it, are you?” Ashley didn’t wait for me to answer. “Turn it off.”

I let out a low groan, my eyes glued to the massive television screen in the cozy living room—the living room Leo and I had decorated together when we’d first moved in. “I can’t help it.”

“I don’t understand why you’d torture yourself like this.” My older sister’s voice was slightly muffled beneath the rhythmic click of her turn signal. I pictured her frowning but still effortlessly pretty—eyes focused on the road while my voice echoed through her car’s speakers.

Meanwhile here I sat…

These days—especially this last week—no one would guess we were related.

Sure, we were both five feet four inches and shared the same hazel eyes, but that’s where the similarities ended. Ashley had long, wavy, sun-kissed hair, the kind that looked like it belonged in a shampoo commercial. And boobs. Amazing ones.

Meanwhile, my hair was a mass of curly brown chaos—and my boobs were…fine.

Respectable. The kind you could take home to your parents.

I mean, I’m not a total lost cause. But I’m definitely no Ashley.

And maybe because of that—and a hundred other little things—we didn’t always understand each other.

But we always supported each other.

Almost always, anyway.

Usually.

“You still there?”

“Yeah, I just…” I trailed off, flailing for a reasonable explanation.

But there wasn’t one. I didn’t know why I was watching this either, except that I couldn’t not watch.

Live, on KNPT Channel 12, was the kitchen set I had designed. My pots and pans. My carefully curated little rack of spices. My mini herb garden that I’d nurtured and cared for as if the bushy little plants were my children.

And standing under the lights…my fiancé.

Ex -fiancé, if we were going to be technical.

But the woman standing next to him now, giggling while she abandoned the sauce she was stirring to hand him his favorite chef’s knife, definitely wasn’t me.

She had glorious auburn hair, was perfectly made up, and wore an immaculate apron over designer clothes.

She was, in fact, the antithesis of me.

“Luna, at least tell me you’ve eaten something today. Have you gotten dressed? Are you staying hydrated?”

I dropped my eyes guiltily, taking in the yoga pants and faded lobster T-shirt I was wearing. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d washed them.

As for my health and nutrition, I was pretty sure I’d eaten a Pop-Tart for breakfast, and I’d made my way through half a bottle of wine the night before. So…not the greatest.

“Of course,” I said, doing my best to sound convincing. I was just glad neither she nor my mom were here to see me living up to Mom’s low expectations.

“Why don’t I believe you?”

“I’m fine.” I tried to sound at least a little chipper, forcing a smile she couldn’t see, but that I hoped she might hear in my voice.

“You need to get out, Looney.” Ashley called me by the nickname she’d given me ages ago, but her voice was softer now. Sad.

“Right.” My laugh came out brittle. “That’s not going to happen. Not until I have literally no other choice.”

Even then, I’d need a disguise. Maybe cut off my hair, bleach it, and buy a giant pair of dark glasses.

And forget about wearing the vintage clothes I loved—the patchwork swing skirts, the loose blouses with embroidered designs.

I hadn’t done it intentionally, but they had become part of the “Luna” brand.

Wearing them now would feel like hanging a neon sign around my neck that said, yes, it’s me. The trainwreck from Channel 12!

It's not like I was famous, but in this town, people knew me. The people who followed the show used to love me! But that was before…

“If that’s all you called to say?—”

“It’s not,” Ashley cut me off. “I actually have something else we need to talk about. Mom’s physical therapy is…progressing slower than she had hoped.”

Six weeks ago, our mother, who’d lived alone since Dad passed away two years ago, had fallen off a ladder and broken her hip.

None of us were surprised to hear she’d been on a ladder painting her kitchen. What shocked us was that—as meticulous as she’d always been about her health—she’d managed to break her hip doing it.

“She can’t be happy about that,” I muttered.

Mom was the type of person who needed to keep busy.

If she wasn’t attending some class at the local rec center, she was doing volunteer work for a charity, training to run the next 5k, or crocheting miniature blankets for the nearby children’s hospital.

And that was outside of her part-time job at the grocery store, which she’d had for as long as I could remember.

Not that she had to work necessarily, not with dad’s pension and the money from his life-insurance policy—plus the rent she collected on Gran’s old beach cottage—but Mom had to keep busy, and she had always valued financial security above anything else.

“She isn’t. But…that’s not the problem,” Ashley said, and I could hear that she was finally getting to the point, the reason for her call. “Mom’s not going to be able to take that trip she’s signed up for.”

If Leo and his new “assistant” weren’t careful, their béarnaise sauce was going to boil over. And once it broke, no amount of whisking would bring it back together.

“Luna, are you listening to me?”

“Of course I am.” I blinked. “What was she signed up for?”

“Her trip, Luna. Twelve days…?”

“Oh, yeah. The trip.” Only, I didn’t remember hearing about a trip.

“She went on and on about it over Christmas. Remember? The bus tour? That starts in Colorado and travels around the Southwest?”

“Okaaaay…?” I said, pointing the remote at the TV to mute it, forcing myself to pay attention. “What about it?”

“Well, it’s non-refundable.” My sister fell silent for a few seconds, allowing me to process the implications of what she was saying. “Mom is threatening to go, against her doctor’s advice, rather than let her ticket go to waste.”

“She can’t do that.”

“Of course, she can’t, but you know how she is when she gets something in her head. So…I told her the ticket wouldn’t go to waste.”

“Oh?” Where was she going with this?

“The tickets aren’t refundable, but they are transferable…” Ominous pause. “I told Mom that you would go.”

I laughed, incredulous. “You what?” I couldn’t have heard her correctly. Already, I was shaking my head.

“Luna, just hear me out.”

“Ashley,” I said, my voice rising. “You know I can’t?—”

“Why not?” she interrupted. “Honestly, the more I think about it, the more it makes sense. Mom needs to stay home and recover, and you need to get out of town—out of sight for a while. This is perfect.”

“No, it’s not!” I groaned, flopping back on the couch, staring up at the ceiling as I pictured it.

A bus full of happy people, all of them probably just like my mother.

Any vacation she signed up for would be just as regimented as every other aspect of her life—every stop prearranged, being shuttled from place to place on a timer.

In a massive bus.

It sounded awful. When Leo and I traveled, he’d always rent a car so we could go off the beaten path. No crowded tours or cheesy stops—just us and Leo’s thoughtfully curated destinations. His favorite restaurants. Wineries that poured his favorite wines. Places he couldn’t wait to show me.

My heart cracked a little.

“I can’t deal with this right now,” I said.

“Luna, come on.” Exasperation was creeping into Ashley’s voice. “You can’t hide at home forever.”

“Watch me,” I muttered.

“Looney.” Ashley slipped into big-sister tone. “You’re miserable. Getting out of town, away from the fallout—it would help.”

But it was too much. My brain felt like an abandoned kitchen after serving up a huge meal—cluttered, sticky, greasy. I didn’t know where to even begin to clean it up.

“No,” I said, cutting her off. “I can’t, Ash. I just…I can’t.”

“Maybe I’ll go then, and you can come up here and take care of Mom for me.”

I knew she was bluffing. There was no way she’d leave the twins—Blakey and Maxwell, my seven-year-old nephews, who were incidentally my favorite kids in the world—and her devoted husband, Beckett, for… Did she say twelve days?

Besides that, Mom and I would kill each other if we were left alone for more than a day.

“I’m sorry. I can’t. Maybe one of Mom’s neighbors will take the ticket.” And then, before she could argue further, I added, “I’ll talk to you later,” and ended the call, tossing my phone onto the sofa and sinking down beside it.

A freaking bus?

Yeah, no thank you.