Free The Unlikely Romance of Kate Bjorkman by Louise Plummer Page A

upstairs.”
    Remembering Bjorn and Trish’s fight, Richard and I sobered up to some degree. We explained the situation to my parents.
    “Oh dear,” Mother said. “Well, we might as well stay down here until they’re finished. Newlyweds should be left to themselves for the first fifteen years, don’t you think, Nels?”
    “I think they should be left alone for twenty-five years.” My father slung his arm around Mother’s shoulder.
    “Don’t you think you should go up? Talk to them or something?” I asked. “They might get a divorce over a stupid Christmas tree.”
    Mother, removing her overcoat, said, “It’s hard to be newly wed.”
    “My experience with newlyweds is that they should be gassed,” Fleur said.
    Mother struggled to find the appropriate expression.
    “Oh, I’m sorry!” Fleur’s fingers covered her mouth when she saw Mother’s sagging jaw. “I didn’t mean Trish and Bjorn. My parents—that is, my mother is going to be newly wed for the sixth time on New Year’s Day. One of her husbands once called her a silver-lined slut. My father’s third marriage is breaking up even as we speak. His last wife broke his head open with a blender. I was thinking about them.”
    “Oh dear,” Mother said again. “And poor Bjorn and Trish upstairs bludgeoning each other over a tree. We’d really better go up and knock on the door.”
    My father nodded. “Good night,” he said, taking Mother’s arm.
    “Do you guys want to go back to bed?” I asked Fleur and Richard.
    Fleur shook her head. “I’d rather give them a little time.” She sat down in Dad’s desk chair. “You guys play. I’ll enjoy.”
    Richard and I, after a half dozen false starts, interrupted by fits of giggling, mostly mine, played peaceful songs of a town called Bethlehem, a baby called Jesus, and winged singers called angels. Silently I prayed for peace upstairs.

 Revision Notes
    I find I’m mad at Bjorn and Trish. Their marital problems are ruining my romance novel. I know there’s supposed to be tension, but not theirs! I feel like taking them out. But then why would Richard be a guest in our house? And if I didn’t have a brother, I couldn’t be in love with his friend, could I?
    I could just take Trish out, but that’s kind of hostile. I mean, she’ll read the book and wonder why everyone’s in it but her. I shouldn’t have to be worrying about all this.

I don’t want you to think that I’m one of those naive narrators who are the last ones to know what’s really happening in a story. I know who my antagonist is as well as you do, and in Chapter Seven she will accelerate her obnoxious behavior, increasing the level of dramatic tension ever so slightly. What are friends for?
    I know why Ashley has been my friend. The trouble is I know how this book ends, and I’m not in any mood to give Ashley the benefit of the doubt. Still, I do, sadly, remember why I liked and, yes,
needed
her for my friend. A short list:
    1. It was Ashley who allowed me to drop my owly, smart-girl self and entertained me with makeovers. She could do this thing with my eyes using pencils, creams, and little brushes, and suddenly I had dramatic eyes magnified by the glasses. She painted on cheekbones. “You look like Greta Garbo,” she’d say in her Greta Garbo voice. And the honest truth is I really do look better with lip gloss.
    As long as I can remember, Ashley has had a closetof costumes—feathery boas, old hats with veils, and gold high heels with straps and glittery bows on top. We’d strut in front of the mirror and call each other Ashley dahling and Kate dahling. For hours at a time, Ashley showed me glamour. I will miss that.
    2. She introduced me to trashy television, trashy reading, and trashy food, all of which I loved. Last year we watched
Geraldo
every afternoon. “An hour with dysfunctional people is so invigorating,” Ashley would say. “It makes me feel so emotionally stable. I think I’m turning into Joyce