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Back Dear Sweet Pea Save as PDF
Contents (112)
  1. Dedication
  2. Epigraph
  3. Contents
  5. Chapter One
  6. The Cat’s Out of the Box
  8. Chapter Two
  9. The Most Important Meal of the Day
  11. Chapter Three
  12. The Comeback Kid Minus the Comebacks
  14. Chapter Four
  15. AKA Patricia
  17. Chapter Five
  18. One Size Does Not Fit All
  20. Chapter Six
  21. The Difference Between Like and Like-Like
  23. Chapter Seven
  24. Good as Gravy
  26. Chapter Eight
  27. By Invitation Only
  29. Chapter Nine
  30. The Witching Hour
  32. Chapter Ten
  33. 100% Duck
  35. Chapter Eleven
  36. It’s the Thought That Counts
  38. Chapter Twelve
  39. Our Very Best Life
  41. Chapter Thirteen
  42. The Life of the Party
  44. Chapter Fourteen
  45. Ask and You Shall Receive
  47. Chapter Fifteen
  48. R-E-S-P-E-C-T
  50. Chapter Sixteen
  51. Neutral Territory
  53. Chapter Seventeen
  54. A Girl on a Mission
  56. Chapter Eighteen
  57. Paper, Paper, Get Your Paper!
  59. Chapter Nineteen
  60. Risky Business
  62. Chapter Twenty
  63. No Right Choice
  65. Chapter Twenty-One
  66. The Kind of Promise You Can Keep
  68. Chapter Twenty-Two
  69. Behind Door Number Three
  71. Chapter Twenty-Three
  72. Common Ground
  74. Chapter Twenty-Four
  75. Back on the Market
  77. Chapter Twenty-Five
  78. Let It All Out
  80. Chapter Twenty-Six
  81. My Calling
  83. Chapter Twenty-Seven
  84. First-Date Jitters
  86. Chapter Twenty-Eight
  87. Home Sweet Home
  89. Chapter Twenty-Nine
  90. Causing a Scene
  92. Chapter Thirty
  93. A New Kind of Normal
  95. Chapter Thirty-One
  96. Stuck in the Middle
  98. Chapter Thirty-Two
  99. Three Legs Are Better Than Two
  101. Chapter Thirty-Three
  102. Project BFF
  104. Chapter Thirty-Four
  105. Lip-Synching for My Life
  107. Chapter Thirty-Five
  108. Dear Sweet Pea
  109. Author’s Note
  110. About the Author
  111. Copyright
  112. About the Publisher

“I don’t have any friends left! Well, good luck in Connecticut,” I say, practically spitting the words at his feet. “I’m sure you’ll be just fine without me.”

I’m gone, slamming another door, racing down the steps and back down the sidewalk.

I pause for a moment in front of Mom’s gate. And then I start to walk back to Dad. I double back again.

I can’t bear to see either of them right now.

I find myself pacing in front of Miss Flora Mae’s house for a few minutes before I finally give in and walk up her walkway. She’s not on the porch anymore, so I ring her gilded doorbell—something I’ve never done. I don’t know where she got the thing, but if there’s such a thing as a spooky-doorbell store, Miss Flora Mae is probably their best customer.

I ring the bell again.

The door creaks open, and there’s Miss Flora Mae in her black muumuu and a giant pair of slippers that look like clawed wolf paws.

“Can I come in?”

She gives me a quizzical look. “Enter at your own risk.”

Dear Miss Flora Mae,

I’d be in deep trouble if Mom and Dad knew I was spilling their secret. They haven’t even told Grandma or Aunt Cheryl. You probably won’t even read this anyway, so what does it matter?

My mom and dad are getting a divorce. I wish there was a way I could stop it. But I can’t. No one can. Because my dad is gay, and trying to stop the divorce is like asking him to be someone else. At least that’s what my mom said.

I don’t even know what I’m trying to ask. All I know is my world is actually splitting in two and I’m being pulled in every direction. We all love each other, but it’s like on those shows about doctors where they need a certain kind of blood for a patient, but all they have is the wrong kind. This is what that feels like. We have plenty of love. It’s just not the right kind.

Sincerely,

Caught in the Middle

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Chapter Thirty-One

Stuck in the Middle

“I was wondering how long you’d be pacing that ever-loving street before you decided to come inside,” says Miss Flora Mae. “I’ve been gone for three weeks and you’ve already taken up my spot as town eccentric.”

“Eccentric?” I ask.

“Weirdo,” she supplies. “They can’t get enough of my advice, but just about the whole lot of them think I’m storing bodies in the basement.”

“But you don’t even have a basement,” I say.

“Not that you know of.” She winks. “Have a seat on the couch. I’ll get us some lemonade.” She calls over her shoulder, “Though by the looks of it you much prefer my ginger ale.”

Eeek! I wonder what other little differences she noticed around the house. I sit down on the couch, and even though I’ve gotten quite used to this place, I suddenly feel like a guest.