Holly Banks Full of Angst (Village of Primm, #1)(89)
Suong-Lu placed a hand on Holly’s arm. She informed Holly that except for rare circumstances on special accounts, Twitter followers were public. Not only could you see the follower numbers plain as day, but anyone who wanted to could click on your list of followers and see exactly who those followers were. Apparently, nothing about Twitter following was private. So, clearly, thought Holly, I’m an idiot.
Holly tried to read the look on Emily’s face. Does she think I am doing this on purpose? Acting the fool, so everyone will laugh and the meeting will fall apart? Because that was never Holly’s intention. Emily appeared disappointed in Holly. Holly could tell. And Holly couldn’t help but wonder: Did Emily regret inviting Holly into her inner circle? Because if she did . . .
Emily could stick it.
A part of Holly didn’t care anymore.
Holly would bake the dang pies because she said she would—but she refused to feel bad that she didn’t also tweet about pies. Because, in the end, they were freaking pies.
35
Thursday afternoon
Holly’s meeting with the Pie Committee ended. She got Ella out of school and drove her all the way to Southern Lakes to see Dr. Sue Melo (pronounced “mellow,” not “milo”). Turned out, Ella did need glasses. Like, a long time ago. They got her fitted and were told her glasses would be ready for pickup Saturday morning. Holly decided they’d pick the glasses up before heading to the Cherry Festival on The Lawn. Holly wanted Ella to see the thirteen pies her mommy had baked for her school.
Holly drove Ella back to school, then ran home for a quick strategy meeting with Greta. Holly needed to shop for groceries, then be back in time to meet Caleb to discuss the film footage Holly had collected.
Walking into her family room, Holly caught Greta doing yoga wearing nothing but her underwear. No bra, no nothing. “Mom! Jeez. Put a shirt on.” Holly shielded her eyes from the most disturbing thing she’d seen in a long while. “At least wear a sports bra.”
“Sports bra? Total rip-off. For two bucks I can strap the twins in with an Ace wrap. Works just as well.” Greta snickered. “Now hold yer horses, Holly. I’m an old lady stuck in a downward dog. This’ll take a few minutes.”
Holly heard Greta grunting and moaning and gathered Greta had somehow flung herself sideways against Holly’s family room couch and was now rolling out of the thing she called the downward dog. Didn’t look like no downward dog pose to Holly, but whatev.
“I need to increase my followers on Twitter,” Holly told Greta. “And I need to send out some tweets with the hashtag ‘cherry pie’ in them.” Holly hoped Greta had picked up some hashtagging skills along her path to becoming a social media icon in the world of ukulele. “Emily likes hashtags. She wants me to start using hashtags. And links. Links and hashtags.” Links and hashtags. Sounded like something you’d order off the breakfast menu.
They went into the kitchen and sat down at Holly’s computer. “I can’t believe I’m learning Twitter from my mom. I’m so lame.”
“Why? Because I’m old and you’re young?” Greta was still stretching, but at least she’d put on a tank top and some yoga pants. “You have to change with the times, Holly. Life is about change. If you don’t change, you’ll never grow.”
“Sounds cliché.”
“Truth often is.”
Greta fired up Holly’s computer, double-clicked the Google Search icon, and typed.
“Mom. Stop. You’re typing YouTube. I need Twitter. Blue bird, not red play button.”
“I know, I know. I thought I’d show you some of my ukulele concerts first.”
“Mom, please.”
“Holly Tree! I almost forgot.” Greta grabbed the collar of Holly’s shirt and pulled Holly toward her till they were nose to nose. “The most beautiful man on the planet came to your front door. You missed it.”
“Was he driving a G-Class Mercedes?” Holly freed herself from Greta’s grip and reached over to pull an apple from a bowl on the table.
“No. No, he didn’t drive a Mercedes. He was driving a UPS truck.”
“Oh my.” Holly took a bite of the apple. “I saw him too. At the school.” Holly got serious. “Wasn’t he amazing? Like something off the cover of a romance novel.”
“I was thinking hard erotica.”
“Of course you were.”
“So what’d he bring?” Holly surveyed the kitchen table and the counters, looking for a package.
Greta pointed to a stack of about twelve boxes in the family room. “He brought all that.”
“That?”
“My stuff. I shipped everything before I left.”
“Hold up. Everything?” Holly’s hand went limp, still holding the apple. “What happened in Vegas? You didn’t pay your marker, did you? Mom. That’s a felony. You can’t move in. Jack will freak.”
“But Holly. Where’s your compassion? Charlotte’s ‘with kittens.’”
“So?”
“So I’m a cat doula. Do you really expect me to practice my trade while homeless? Charlotte’s so close. For all we know, she’s birthing ten kittens under your couch right now.”