AllFreeNovel
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Kirian: Gif of a building exploding.
Lindy: That’s too fancy for the group chat.
Leandra: How did you do that?
Ellis: Yeah, that was awesome.
Leandra: They were trying to outfart each other. That’s right. Butt polka or whatever you call it.
Ellis: I think it’s butt tuba.
Toren: Anyway, things got out of hand. I guess you can only push so far before, well…
Leandra: An explosion. (Star-like explosion emoji.)
Toren: When Taylen tried to push out another fart, something else came along with it. It wasn’t exactly a dry experience.
Ash: Dry times it was not.
Kirian: It was all up his back. So, dart?
Ellis: Please don’t say that’s short for diarrhea fart.
Ash: That’s too far. It wasn’t that bad. Although, I agree. It did touch cloth and then some. It might even have soaked in a little. Past the gotch, past the pants, look out shirt, here it rants?
Ellis: That is a nasty way to twist the saying around.
Kirian: On an unrelated note, check out the photo of this thick ass bee just chilling under my lawn chair. I literally just found it there. It scared the hell out of me. It’s easily half the length of my thumb. (Bee photo of a giant black and yellow fuzzy bee.)
Lindy: Holy crap, that’s a huge bee!
Ash: Gosh darn, mutated thumb bees.
Leandra: Anyway, back to the shart…
Leandra: It was foul. And there were other times…
Ash: Oh right, there was the time…
I stop reading, even though the group text goes on and on. I lift the middle console on my truck, throw the phone in, and close it hard. Then, I glare at Elodie, who has lost her innocent puppy dog expression and now looks hella guilty.
“WHY?” I ask her indignantly. “After I rescued you!”
“Because you took so long! You were supposed to be there at least five minutes earlier! I had to stand up there, sweating it out, thinking I was going to have to marry a guy with like six million names, a guy I didn’t love. In front of my entire family and a church full of my parents’ friends, no less.”
“Or you could have backed out a long time ago by telling your parents to go bleep themselves when they bleeping introduced you to that bleeping guy and basically made it clear you had to bleeping marry him.”
Elodie’s eyebrows shoot up into her tendrils of golden hair that are clinging damply to her forehead. Since I stopped at the gas pumps, the truck has been off, and now, it’s hot and humid in here. Real hot. “Yeah, like I had a choice. And why are you using the word bleep in place of swears? You’ve never given two shits about dropping f-bombs and whatnot.”
“So, because I was late,” I go on, ignoring what she just said, “you thought it was perfectly fine to bring up the shart incident.”
“Incidents.”
“With my family? After I did all this for you? I’m driving us to a tiny little motel in Natchez, where no one will think to look for you. I planned your escape for the past three months, getting every single detail ironed out. I have your clothes, a burner phone, and all the cash you have hoarded up. I came for you, stole you—the bride—from your own wedding, and now I’m spiriting you out of Louisiana, across state lines, so your parents have time to cool down and hopefully won’t disown you.
“Also, in a week, I’m going to bring you back to NOLA so you can start looking for a job and an apartment. All this so you can start your life over and get on with it, all at the tender age of thirty-three because you never had the guts to stand up for yourself before despite all those times I told you to. Then, you got in over your head, got arranged engaged for an arranged marriage and…”
“And what?” Elodie asks sweetly. If she’s mad, it would be impossible to tell because Elodie doesn’t get mad. She’s been too well trained by her mother, who thinks showing emotions is a weakness because it makes a woman look ‘hysterical.’ Cinnamon’s words, not mine. “You’re put out by this? You’re my best friend. We’re going to have a fun week in Natchez before we come back. You’re a digital nomad, and you’ve made a fortune off investing. All you need to have is your phone with you. Also, you haven’t been out of NOLA in forever. And, need I remind you, this was your idea.”
“You said you didn’t want to marry the guy! That you’d rather freaking carve off your big toe with a butter knife and dine on it than marry Henry. Was I supposed to just let you end up at the altar of your parents’ desires for you to be a trophy wife to some old money, trust fund fart?”
