12 Hours In Paradise Read Online Free PDF

were a lifeline. “Or do you think they’re just accustomed to each other? Just a habit.”
    “Definitely still in love,” I said. “Look at the way he’s eyeing her butt. He still thinks she’s a babe.”
    “You know, you’re right. I think I just saw him cop a feel. What’s your perfect day, Dorothy?”
    “My perfect day would be riding my horse on a white, sandy beach where nobody else is in sight.”
    “Homo sapiens would just ruin everything, I suppose?”
    “And I’d stop underneath a palm tree and lie on a blanket and read a great book until I fell asleep with the sound of waves in the background.”
    “ Little House on the Prairie ?”
    “No, something more…well yes, maybe. Little House on the Prairie just for that one perfect day.”
    “Have you ever experienced this perfect day?”
    “No, there aren’t any beaches in Reno.”
    “Not even in the casinos?”
    “Not even in the casinos, which, by the way, I never go to. And even if there was a beach and a palm tree inside the casino, it would be fake, and I don’t think they’d let me bring my horse inside.”
    Did I just say that part about being alone on my perfect day because he didn’t mention my name in his perfect day? The bus was filled, and no one was left on the sidewalk. The door closed with a whoosh, and the idling engine quieted as the bus inched away. I felt a ridiculous sense of sadness to see these people go. I would never see them again.
    “Let’s go walk around this hotel lobby,” I said suddenly, determined to ignore the blister on my foot. “I think it’s the nicest hotel in Honolulu, and I always beg my parents to stay here whenever we come.”
    “They don’t agree with you?”
    “It’s not that they don’t agree with me. T hey like our hotel better because of the suites where you can fit more people, and the free breakfasts and all.”
    “And Chester loves the happy hour.”
    “And Chester loves the happy hour.”
    “Practicality. We lose our impracticality when we become adults, although I think we regain it when we’re very old.”
    “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”
    “Impracticality. It can be both good and bad, but it’s a more pure form of living. My father used to yell at my grandmother for spending too much. He’d say—” Arash tucked his chin to lower his voice into a mumbling, menacing tone, “—‘You’re going through all your savings, and if you keep it up at this rate, I’m going to have to support you one day.’”
    “Why? What was she spending on?”
    “Travel, clothes, jewelry, condos all over the world.”
    “And what would she say to your dad, who I guess is her…?”
    “Her son. She’d say—” Arash raised his voice in a silly imitation of a woman, “—‘If I don’t have fun now, when am I ever going to have fun? In the grave? Put me in the poorhouse if I spend all my money.’”
    “Does he still yell at her about it?”
    “No, he doesn’t yell at anyone anymore.”
    “Well that’s a good thing, at least.”
    He didn’t answer, so I filled in the silence.
    “My dad doesn’t yell, but when he’s mad, you really know it.”
    “Like this?” He lowered his voice again. I guess he only had two adult voices, and they both sounded equally funny. “‘Dorothy, I came home expecting that you’d have one hundred and fifty hand-sewn and embroidered silken elf shoes completed, and I see you only have one hundred and forty-eight. I’m very disappointed in you.’”
    “How do you even know what embroidery is ?” I laughed. “Most guys wouldn’t know that. Oh my God…one hundred and fifty hand-sewn and embroidered silken elf shoes? You’re crazy!”
    “Well, am I right? I mean, without the silken-elf-shoe part.”
    “Yeah, yeah. It’s like that. No yelling but just this heavy disappointment.”
    “That’s the worst, right? Just yell at me and get it over with.”
    “I don’t know,” I said. “My parents don’t yell at me. I don’t think I’d