Depths by Steph Campbell & Liz Reinhardt

Author:Steph Campbell & Liz Reinhardt
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: (¯`'•.¸//(*_*)\\¸.•'´¯)
ISBN: 9781482719765
Publisher: CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform
Published: 2013-03-11T10:37:21+00:00

11 COHEN

“Are Deo and Whit going to make it to dinner tonight, sweetie?” my mother asks, her wavy brown hair pulled back in the tight bun that means she’s cooking some serious Jewish/Mexican culinary masterpiece.

“I think they’ll be a little late, but, yeah, they’re planning on showing up.” I hand her the potatoes I just peeled for the fiesta latkes. You wouldn’t believe how some corn flour, cilantro, and lime can spice up your average potato pancake.

My youngest sister, Genevieve, comes in with the almonds Mom got from a neighbor, shelled and hand slivered, ready for the chocolate nut torte.

“So, is the wedding in the works for those two?” Genevieve asks, trying to keep the sour out of her voice. My little sister has had the world’s biggest crush on Deo since she was in second grade. I’m pretty sure she had a scary altar set up in her closet where she lit candles and tried to cast Santería love spells based on the misinformation of her best friend, Charity.

“They’re not in any hurry,” I say, but when my sister’s expression brightens, I add, “Well, Whit isn’t. Deo would kill me if he knew I told you, but he’s been talking to florists and looked into getting this big, like, coach to show up with white horses…whatever. I think it’s so damn weird.”

I can hear the hostess in my brain announcing, Bitter, table for one.

So maybe the mushy lovey-dovey behavior that I used to find mostly pretty sweet is now driving me out of my skull. And maybe that has to do with the fact that every time I see Deo curl up with Whit or laugh at one of her acerbic jokes or get excited to talk about reception venues, my mind goes right back to Maren and what I’m missing not being with her.

But I realized something important. As hot as she is, with her wide blue eyes and her soft brown hair, all curves and smiles and some kind of innate, intense sexiness that I can’t quite put my finger on, she’s. Not. Real.

Not as someone I can date, anyway.

She’s just a figment of Cohen Rodriguez’s intensely overactive imagination peppered with a liberal spicing of rebound desperation, and garnished with some good old-fashioned drunkenness.

In short, I am an idiot, and Maren is best kept at a distance.

I know this. So why do I keep thinking about her?

“I think a horse-drawn carriage sounds very romantic,” Mom says, one hip braced on the counter, wooden spoon twirled dreamily between her fingers. “But Deo was always a romantic like that.”

“I know,” Genevieve sighs, her eyes all soft and dewy, her hands balled in tight fists. “I’ve always known that.”

My older sister, Lydia, busts in and rolls her eyes at Genevieve before she even knows why she’s doing it. “What have you ‘always known’?” she demands.

She’s been bossy as hell since we were little kids, and she still thinks it’s up to her to know everything about every one of us. It’s pretty damn irritating.

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