Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 119935 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 600(@200wpm)___ 480(@250wpm)___ 400(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119935 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 600(@200wpm)___ 480(@250wpm)___ 400(@300wpm)
Alaska was a place of promise. It smelled fresh. Hygienic. Clean. The air was straight from heaven. The skies and scenery were picturesque. No, there wasn’t a twenty-four-seven nightlife at every turn, food carts on steamy streets, and musicians playing songs that sounded almost better than the original artists—but there was life. There was potential for a new beginning. Though crime was something to be concerned about here, too, it was less prevalent and handled much differently than back home. Crime was on the rise in New York, some even saying it was turning back to Manhattan in the late 1970s and 1980s. A time period she knew little of, having been a small child in the 1980s, but her parents made it quite clear those were dangerous and perilous times to be in the city.
She jotted down a few more ingredients she needed to make the foods she missed so much—perhaps even introduce some to Jack. The thought of that put a smile on her face once again.
She knew how to make many of the dishes herself, after learning how to prepare them from so many of her dancer friends that had come from around the world. They’d often have potlucks, and cook for one another for special events, such as birthday parties. Randall, Kasha, Harema, Miquel… She kept those memories close, the recipes, the laughs, the good times all bottled up inside. Pushing past the melancholy, she became distracted by the sounds from outside.
The wind howled outside her apartment windows, whispering that winter was nowhere near gone, despite overstaying its welcome. Digging her freshly painted toes into the soft white rug beneath her feet, she leaned forward from her couch and grabbed her reading glasses. She hated putting them on, especially with how they made her feel. What had initially begun as a fashion statement had soon turned into a necessity. Her eyesight wasn’t as sharp as it had once been.
She caught her reflection in a mirror on her living room wall. I look like some miserable old lady who wags her finger and is always telling kids to be quiet in the library! All that is missing is my hair in a gray bun, and an unflattering skirt hiked up to right under my boobs. Those are starting to sag, too. I used to be able to go out without wearing a bra. Now if I don’t, I might get a ticket for socking someone in the face from two miles away.
She stood up for a moment and looked at her body, turning from left to right.
I’m getting old. I mean, I know I’m not old, but I’m too old to take dancing seriously anymore, at least start over in a new town, and I’m getting too old to have children, too. I know plenty of women have kids after forty, but that is not what I personally wanted to do. I know I’m in pretty good shape for a thirty-eight-year-old, and as far as I know, my reproductive organs are just fine—but eggs get stale and that can lead to issues down the line. I suppose if I really want to, I can adopt a child, an older child maybe, once I’m stable again. Adoption… A part of me is afraid they’ll end up feelin’ like I did sometimes as a kid.
On top of that, what about the other stuff? I know it sounds selfish, but I wanted to give birth to my own. I always thought I’d have at least one by now, although not with just anyone. I would have wanted my baby to be created in love and brought up in a stable home. Maybe it’s just not in the cards. I can accept that.
She shrugged, then sat back down on the couch. Being a great woman and having a fulfilling life doesn’t always have to include children. I am all for women choosing what is best for them, and what they want. The hell with what society says. It just irks me that the possibility is probably completely off the table now.
She scratched her scalp, curing an itch, and debated whether she really wanted blueberry muffins after all. Perhaps they, too, would be completely off the table. Scratched off the list. Removed from the sequence of options.
Picking up her phone, she checked her bank accounts and financial investments. Things looked good. Perhaps splurging on a lobster or two wouldn’t hurt. She grinned as she set the phone back down and wrote: One lobster tail. That always put her in a good mood. She’d not had any in quite some time and craved it so. Her phone lit up a few moments later, and she smiled as she read a text message from Jack:
Glad you got home ok. Looking forward to seeing you this weekend.