Page 2 of Yours Suddenly

“Evie,” I say more urgently. “Please.”

Nothing.

“Mom!” I say desperately. “Evie won't —”

My voice dries up in my throat. Mom’s even paler than my sister, lying on her back, her left arm at an awkward angle. Next to her is Dad, eyes closed, a wound on his forehead

“Guys,” I gasp, “please wake up. What am I supposed to do?”

I sink to the floor, sobbing. “What am I going to do?” I say over and over as someone puts a hand on my shoulder, grief consuming me.

Chapter 1

Two years later

Alexandra

“You know,” Derek says from across the table in the high-end restaurant we're dining in, “you can stuff your face with something else back at my place.”

I pause in my action of biting the end of a zucchini, my eyes landing on the tech bro before me. He looks proud of the remark he just made. I nibble off the end of the vegetable and chew, trying to come up with something nice to say and not snarky.

“Well,” I say finally, “I'm already stuffing my face with something else, so maybe another time?”

His eyebrows come down slightly. Oh, he doesn't like that.

The reason we're having this date is because he wants someone to fuck or, using his own word,stuff.

Well, that's not whyIcame on this date. I sound sappy, but I’m looking for something serious. What happened to good, old-fashioned love?

“I have something way tastier than that zucchini,” he says, his eyes landing on my mouth as I take another tiny munch, making sure to not be lewd and give him any more wrong ideas. “It starts with D and it ends with ick.”

“Ick indeed,” I say.

“Yeah, so what do you say?” he continues, oblivious. “This place kinda stinks anyway.”

It really doesn't. This is the best restaurant I've ever been to. I know my sister would have geeked out if she came here to dine. She was obsessed with luxury and would have appreciated the massive chandeliers, the rich carpet beneath my feet, the flowers that decorate the walls.

I try to push the image of my family away from my mind because whenever I think of them, other disturbing pictures spring up. The coldly lit hospital room. The funeral, the car wreck. The blood that had dried on the asphalt. Their pale dead bodies, their swollen faces and broken limbs.

I gag.

“Looks like you have a gag reflex,” Derek says, his eyes lighting up.

“What?” I say, putting my fork down and leaning back in my seat, giving my head a little shake to dispel the nausea.

“I'm saying I can teach you not to gag like that. I've been told I'm pretty good at teaching girls to suck cock.”

“Wow, okay,” I say, gagging again, but this time I might actually vomit. I take a deep breath. “So we were talking about what you do again?”

He closes his eyes and lets out a slight, exasperated sigh.

Yeah, this is not going to work.

I'm definitely adding tech bro to my list of never-agains. So that’s finance bros, tech bros, and, surprisingly, art bros. People think artsy types are all sensitive and romantic, but they will literally ruin your life with their “life is short” thing.

Ever since I moved to New York from Wisconsin I haven't been able to make friends. Work at the cafe has been brutal. I could use a girlfriend to text about this awful date right about now.

“I work in tech,” Derek says.

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