I replace the salt and pepper shakers on the tables with fresh ones and check the clock hanging above the fake ivy wreath. We open for the brunch crowd in ten minutes. Joy, oh joy.
“No thanks,” Jorden says, continuing her rant. “I plan to find me a sweet little sugar daddy. That party was chock full of them.”
If Jorden knew what having a “sugar daddy” was really like, she wouldn’t want it so bad.
I could tell her. I could walk her through my mom’s life. Through what was supposed to be my life. But I didn’t run away just to dive back into that cesspool again.
Clean break. That’s what I want. Which means I can’t tell Jorden that I’ve seen her fantasy up close and personal, and it doesn’t look anything like the advertisements.
“Guys like the ones from last night want girls in ballgowns w
