Ready or Not (The Love Game Book 4) by Elizabeth Hayley (i wanna iguana read aloud txt) 📗

white hair that was haphazardly bundled on top of her head with a pencil sticking through it, a collared pink dress that was so shapeless it should be a crime, and a black apron tied around her waist with straws hanging out of it. She’d be the picture of a stereotypical diner server except for the fact that she also wore a pair of black sunglasses with lenses so dark, I couldn’t even tell if she had eyes.

She came to a stop at our table, but she didn’t fully face us. Instead, she stood slightly catty-corner to us. “Evening. I’m Helen. Can I get ya drinks?”

I ventured a look at Taylor, whose eyes had gone a little wide. “Uh, just a water for me,” she said.

“Same,” I added.

“Great. Be right back.”

I watched Helen leave. She moved around tables easily, but there was also a stiffness to her.

“Oh my God, is she blind?” Taylor asked once Helen was out of earshot.

“No, she can’t be.” Could she?

“We’re in a place called the Greasy Spoon. Anything’s possible,” Taylor retorted.

“This place isn’t that bad,” I said, sounding defensive.

“Whatever. Leave me to pick out my final meal in peace.” Taylor pulled her menu up so it blocked my view of her face.

I reached across and pushed it down to be irritating. “What do you want your last words to be?”

Her lips twitched as if she wanted to smile but refused to allow it. “I’ll probably be throwing up and unable to talk.”

I laughed. “Why would you be doing that?”

“Because there’s no way my death will be anything other than mortifying.”

“All the more reason to tell me what you want them to be. I’ll lie and say you said them.”

“How sweet,” she said dryly.

“I know. You don’t deserve me.”

“For fuck’s sake,” she muttered and turned her attention back to her menu.

Which I was having none of. I pushed her menu down again. “You gotta tell me.”

She slapped her menu down on the table and glared at me. “They’ll be ‘I murdered Ransom, and I’m not sorry.’”

My smile grew. Who knew getting on someone’s nerves could be such a thrill? “You may have to write those down.”

“Why?”

“Because if I’m dead too, I can’t tell anyone you said them.”

She shot me an exasperated look, so I decided to take mercy on her. “Okay, tell me your favorite last words, and I’ll leave you alone.”

“Alone, like forever, or…?”

I pretended to think about it. “At least ten minutes.”

She sighed. “Beggars can’t be choosers. Fine, my favorite words were from Voltaire. On his deathbed, a priest asked him if he wanted to denounce Satan. And Voltaire replied, ‘Now is not the time for making new enemies.’”

I laughed. “You are so dark.”

“Shut up. You promised me ten minutes.”

I paused for a beat, letting her sink into a false sense of security before leaning over the table slightly. “You wanna know what my final words are gonna be?”

“No,” she said simply.

“They’re gonna be, ‘I’m sorry I lied about leaving Taylor alone for ten minutes.’”

She sat back in her seat and looked at the ceiling. “Was I a serial killer in a past life or something? Is that why I’m being punished?”

I laughed a little too loudly, but I couldn’t help it. I’d been wound tight after my short conversation with my mom, but annoying Taylor made me feel so…light. Carefree in a way I rarely felt. Maybe it was because she fought back with such well-placed snark. Or maybe because it was fun to have her attention. Whatever it was, I was quickly becoming addicted to it.

Helen reappeared with two waters on a black tray. Instead of putting them on our table, she held them out, not really toward either of us, but rather in the general direction of our table. I took the first, put it in front of Taylor, and then took mine.

“You ready to order?”

“I think so,” I answered. “You ready?” I asked Taylor.

“Yeah. Can I get the turkey club?”

“Mayonnaise okay?” Helen asked as she stood there, not writing anything down.

“Yeah, that’s fine.”

Helen turned in my general direction, which I took to mean it was my turn to order.

“Can I get the hot open-faced turkey with mashed potatoes and corn?”

“That comes with a soup or salad,” Helen informed me.

“I’ll have a salad. Do you have a raspberry vinaigrette?”

“Sure do. I’ll take your menus.” She stuck her hand out, and I hurried to pick up our menus and put them in her outstretched fingers. “Be right back with your salad and some bread for the table.”

“Thank you,” we both replied in unison.

We both watched her walk toward the kitchen and disappear behind a swinging door that another server had to grab so it didn’t smack Helen in the face.

Taylor turned to me. “Is there a hidden camera around here somewhere?”

“I’d like to say no, but the way our lives are going, anything is possible.”

Taylor took a sip of her water and played with the straw. “Speaking of our lives…”

I took a deep breath. I’d almost allowed myself to forget the reason she’d agreed to come with me. “I, uh, I’m not sure where to start.”

“Wherever you’re comfortable starting. But, and this honestly pains me to say because I really want to know, if you don’t want to talk about it, I’ll understand. It’s not really any of my business.”

I want it to be your business. The thought popped unbidden into my mind, but I couldn’t debate the veracity of it. “My birth mom was…not a good mom. Or person, really. She was an addict and couldn’t be bothered with me most of the time. Child welfare took me away the first time after my mom had taken me to the hospital for a burn. She’d left the stove on to try to heat up the shithole apartment we were living in, and I’d touched it. I was four.” I’d let the words flow quickly, wanting to get them out before I could stumble over how embarrassed they made me.

“Not to sound…callous,