There were only two things Retta Majors truly hated: (1) low-rise jeans and (2) people who smugly corrected anyone who misidentified Frankenstein as the monster.
Retta stared unblinking at her cousin Irene and her now fiancé, Chris, as they stood in the middle of the living room with coordinated outfits and grins.
“There could be a live possum in there and you wouldn’t know,” Duncan said. “His name is Terrance.” “What?” Duncan asked. “The live possum in my refrigerator? His name is Terrance.”
Not just any purple either. This particular shade was one Retta knew intimately because she’d spent weeks picking it for her bakery’s walls. They’d made her lilac their wedding color.
What is wrong with her cousin??? And her family in general
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