Read All You Could Ask For: A Novel for Free Online

I have fresh fruit, please,” I asked a very pleasant waiter who came to take my order, “and nuts if you have them, and granola, and lots of cold water.”
    “Will this be a room charge?” he asked.
    “No, I’m not staying in this hotel.”
    He asked where I was staying and I told him, and then I asked how far apart the hotels were.
    “I’m not sure exactly, miss,” he said. “I can get the exact distance if you’d like.”
    “If it isn’t too much trouble.”
    A moment later he was back with the most beautiful plate I’ve ever seen, a huge platter piled high with ripe grapefruit, pineapple, berries, and assorted other explosively colorful treats.
    “I asked at the desk,” he told me as I sank my teeth into a mango. “They say it is about eighteen miles from your hotel.”
    I finished chewing and looked up at him.
    “Excuse me?” I said.
    “Eighteen miles,” he repeated. “That’s what they said. How long did it take you to drive here?”
    “I didn’t drive,” I said, “I ran.”
    “Wow, pretty long run,” he said, “nice way to start the day. Enjoy your lunch.”
    Lunch? I thought.
    “What time is it?” I asked.
    “Almost noon, miss.”
    I had been running for three hours.
    “Thank you very much,” I said.
    I devoured everything on that platter and loved every bite of it. I ate berries and figs and raisins, almonds and walnuts and macadamia nuts, mango and pineapple and coconut, and I drank a pitcher of ice water, then asked for another and finished that one as well. When I was done, I leaned back in my chair and let the sun bathe my face. I wanted to run some more, or maybe swim. I just needed to digest for a few minutes first. Then the pleasant waiter was back, humming amiably as he cleared the table.
    “Would you care for anything else?” he asked.
    The sun felt so good on my cheeks.
    “Yes,” I said, without opening my eyes. “Are there any rooms available in this hotel?”
BROOKE
    I GUESS I DON’T say a lot of things that surprise people.
    I’m a mom, and as a mom I guess I mostly say things that people are expecting to hear.
    No, Megan, you may not sleep over at Parker’s on a school night.
    Yes, Jared, you must finish the asparagus if you want to have a fudgesicle.
    I’m also a wife, and I don’t suppose Scott is very often surprised with most of what he hears me say.
    Sweetheart, we are having dinner with the Ronsons on Friday. Don’t forget she’s pregnant but you’re not supposed to know.
    If we’re going to do it, lock the door, the kids are probably awake.
    I also play tennis with a group of girls three times a week, and our conversations aren’t that shocking either, I would say.
    I’m seconds away from getting my period.
    I swear if she makes one more comment about my colorist I am going to serve the ball directly into the back of her head.
    So, I almost never get to see a look of complete surprise on anyone’s face. And, really, there’s something a bit awful about that. I don’t suppose anyone wants to be known as “predictable.” I pride myself on being dependable, but I never want to be predictable, because that feels about a half step away from boring.
    Thus, I can honestly say there was something thrilling about the look on Pamela’s face when I said to her: “Next week, I want you to photograph me naked.”
    At first she didn’t speak. Then she blushed, and shook her head a bit as if to clear her ears.
    “I’m sorry,” she said. “What?”
    “I want you to shoot me naked.”
    She paused again. “Wait a minute, darling,” she said, “which of us do you mean would be naked?”
    And then we were both giggling, in a way I don’t get to giggle very often anymore. We giggled the way Megan and her girlfriends do when I accuse them of having crushes on one of the Jonas Brothers, or on the supercute boy a grade ahead of them, with the curly hair. We giggled like lifelong girlfriends, which actually we are not: I have only known Pamela for four