Free The Break-Up Psychic by Emily Hemmer

happy, honey. I haven’t been this happy in a long time. I know it’s going to take some getting used to, but I need your support. Vernon is a good man. He wants to take care of me, to love me, and I’m going to let him. Please be happy for me.”
    I suddenly feel like a piece of S-H-I-T for letting my mom down with my poor attitude. She’s been alone for so long, she deserves the love of a good man, a man she loves and is excited about. I paste a big smile on my face, knowing she’ll be able to hear it when I speak. “Of course I’m happy for you. I can’t wait to meet him.”
    “Well, you’ll be getting that chance very soon!” she squeals. “And, Ellie, I want you to give me away and be my Maid of Honor. Will you?” Her voice has resumed its former happy, excited tone and, as crazy as I think she is for getting engaged to a man she met while drugged six weeks ago, I want to be happy for her.
    “Of course, Mama, I would love to.”
    My mom, in girlish excitement, fills me in on the wedding itinerary before we say goodbye. There’s no time for a bridal shower or bachelorette party and anyway, she feels too old for all the normal wedding nonsense. The ‘I Do’s’ will take place at Vernon’s country club and it’ll be small with only fifty guests or so. My invitation, plus one, should arrive this week. There was a lot of unnecessary emphasis placed on the “plus one.”
    Great, now in addition to avoiding both Tim and Sam, I have to prepare for the inevitable, “Are you still single?” questions that are bound to come from any number of relatives at the wedding.
    I make my way out of the stockroom just in time to see Brook come bounding into the shop in her usual skin-tight mini dress and stiletto pumps. She seems unusually excited today, highlighted extensions flying to and fro as she drops two plastic shopping bags on the counter.
    “Amber, stop poking Noel and get over here.”
    Amber reluctantly places the Noel voodoo doll on her chair and wanders to the counter. Brook, panting with excitement, is waving energetically for us both to hurry up.
    “Girls, you will never believe what I have in these bags!” she says.
    “Human hair,” Amber guesses.
    “No.”
    “Human finger nail clippings.”
    “No, and, sugar, I really worry about you. They’re our uniforms for the Harlow County Corn Festival booth for Brook’s Bath and Body Shop!” She claps her hands excitedly and lapses into a little dance.
    I pull a very small piece of white cotton from one of the bags. To my horror, I see that it’s a white midriff baring t-shirt with the word ‘Body’ written across the bosom. The lettering is hot pink within a gold outline. I flip the t-shirt over and read, ‘I Taste as Good as I Smell.’ Oh. My. God.
    “Um, Brook,” I begin, “what the hell are you thinking?” I look to Amber whose horrified expression matches my own. She looks as though we just caught her cuddling with a pack of six-week old kittens.
    Brook reaches into the bag and pulls out another one of the t-shirts along with a pair of hot pink shorts which can only be described as hot-pants. Or swim bottoms.
    I stare open-mouthed at Brook. “Do you really expect us to wear this?”
    “You bet your bottom I do.”
    “Bet our bottom, you’ll be able to see our bottoms,” Amber says, poking at the shorts as though they were the Noel doll.
    “Now just give it a minute and think. We need to advertise, and sex sells. We’ll be promoting our new tasty body powders at the fair and I want everyone there to be talking about Brook’s Bath and Body Shop.”
    “Yeah,” I gasp, “and they’ll be saying, ‘Who invited the hookers to the Corn Festival?’” She cannot be serious about these uniforms. They look like costume props from a bad 1970’s porno.
    Brook snatches the hot-pants out of my hands and tuts her disappointment over my reaction. “You’re thinking about this all the wrong way, Ellie. This is an opportunity for