Backstage Romance: An Austen-Inspired Romantic Comedy Box Set Gigi Blume (fantasy books to read .txt) 📖

in the speakers and commercial interruptions weren’t exactly helping the makeshift movie soundtrack of my life either. The montage sequence wasn’t any better, unless you consider a string of liquor stores, taco shops, and homeless encampments incredibly enlightening.

But that’s LA for you. And so after deciding that hitting every all-night donut shop in greater Los Angeles was a bad idea, I ended up at my parents’ house.

“What’s wrong? What happened now?”

My mother patted me down, making sure I wasn’t what? Bloody? Had missing limbs? I didn’t even realize how late it was until Dad came out of his study wearing his smoking coat and carrying his brandy snifter. It was his nightly ritual right after the eleven o'clock news. A classic novel, usually Dickens or Tolstoy, a dram of brandy, and a cigar. He’d abandoned the cigar a few years ago—doctor’s orders—but replaced it with a monthly subscription to See’s candy. Who knew that was a thing? I could see the chocolate on the side of his mouth. When Mom confronted him about it, he’d protested it was healthy for him because it was dark chocolate. Another thing about his nightly routine was that he wasn’t to be disturbed unless it was an emergency. I supposed my mother's hysterics were enough cause for alarm because he ran into the living room upon my arrival.

“Nothing happened, Mom.” I shooed her hands away. “Can’t I come visit my family?”

“At midnight?” Dad said.

“Sorry. I didn’t realize it was so late. Go back to War and Peace, and I’ll make myself a sandwich.”

“You really shouldn’t eat this late, dear,” said my mother. “It will make you fat.”

Dad narrowed his eyes and shook his head.

“Let’s go in the kitchen together, Lizzie. I’ve been craving that Italian salami ever since your mother brought it home from Costco.”

Score! Mom made a Costco run. That meant there were giant value packs of toilet paper, bottled water, instant mac and cheese, and all sorts of snacks in the garage pantry. I’d have to raid their stash before I left for home.

As I followed Dad into the kitchen, Mom hollered after us, “Don’t eat the kettle chips. Those are for Mary’s lunches.”

The salami was glorious. Dad pulled out the sourdough, provolone, and brown mustard and made each of us a deli masterpiece. Then he opened two ice-cold glass bottles of Coke, and we ate in heavenly silence for five minutes, just enjoying the midnight snack. I may have moaned with pleasure when the bread hit my lips. Sometimes it’s the simplest things that taste the best.

I let out a breath I’d been holding the entire day and exhaled into the afterglow of meat, bread, and liquid sugar. The bubbles from the Coke sat in my chest, threatening to release the sting of carbonation through my nose from drinking it too fast.

Dad wagged his brows. “Fancy some kettle chips?”

“Heck yeah!”

He reached into the cupboard while I retrieved two more bottles of Coke. Mexicans made the best Coke, but it was too expensive in the supermarkets. God bless Costco.

“So,” Dad began as he tore open the bag of kettle chips. I immediately snatched a handful and bit into the crunchy goodness.

“So?” I shrugged.

Dad likewise gathered a handful of chips in his hand, popping two at a time in his mouth.

“You just happened to be in the neighborhood?”

I wasn’t there for any particular reason. I didn’t need to go running home every time something upset me. I just didn’t feel like going back to the apartment. So I told him just that.

“Why not?” he asked, taking a long swig of his drink.

“My roommates. They’re driving me crazy.”

His chin folded back into his neck, and he blinked. “Even Jane? She strikes me as the easiest person in the world to live with.”

“She is usually. But she broke up with her boyfriend and—”

“Jane broke up with Bing?” My little sister was at the kitchen door, standing dumbstruck in her long flannel nightgown. “Why?”

“Mary, what are you doing up at this hour?” Dad wasn’t one to reprimand either one of us, so his question came off as more of an “Oh, you silly girl,” sort of remark, so she didn’t consider it necessary to answer.

“Bing was perfect for her,” she cried. “Why would she do that?”

“He’s the one who broke it off, not her.”

This information changed her expression from confused to enraged in a matter of seconds. “What? Why?”

I did my best at the twitter version of the story, trying to keep the particulars at 280 characters or less. Subsequently, I left out a lot, but they still got the gist of it.

“Well,” said my father, “Good for her.”

“How so?’

“Oh, everybody needs a little heartbreak at least once in their lives. It provides a small distinction apart from their peers and gives them something to talk about. Good she got it out of the way now.”

“Daddy!”

“When are you going to let some man come along and break your heart, Lizzie? You can’t let Jane have all the fun.”

“Very funny, but I have no such plans.”

“What about that young man you brought over for dinner?”

“Jorge,” Mary offered.

“Yes, Jorge,” he said with a grin. “He’d jilt you credibly.”

“I don’t think he’s capable of that,” I said. “He’s been jilted enough himself.”

My father and Mary’s interest in the subject piqued. I knew Dad was joking, but he did seem to like Jorge. And if I didn’t know Mary better, I’d believe the little blushes on her face the few times he spoke directly to her were indications of a little crush. Of course Mary, with her nose constantly in Tony Robbins books, rarely took notice of anything else.

I didn’t know how much of Jorge’s story I wanted to tell my family. If he were to visit again, how comfortable would he feel if they knew so much? Still, I could give them another twitter version. In the end, the only thing I’d left out was the particulars about his mom. I figured that was sensitive material.

At length, my father