Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 85725 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 429(@200wpm)___ 343(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85725 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 429(@200wpm)___ 343(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
“Foo Fighters,” I correct again at a muted level.
“They’re a band, Mags, not a CDC team.”
Dad’s comment gets a small smirk out of me that he acknowledges with a wink.
“How did you meet her?” She loudly pushes at the same time she scoots to the edge of her seat. “How did you win her over?”
Archer opts for staying still versus attempting to gather food. “We met when she offered me dinner one night.”
“Aw,” my mother unexpectedly coos prompting me to look up. “Had you forgotten your wallet or brought the wrong credit card?”
“No. I was,” the adjustment in his seat shifts my attention to him, “living on the street and starving and digging in her trashcan for scraps.”
Watching him maintain the stoic stature on his face is remarkable.
Inspiring.
His ability to keep his chin up, to face the ugliest truths that would disgust the masses, is just one of the many strengths he has that I’m learning to have to. I’m not ashamed of how we met or our love story. And I’m not embarrassed by the life he was surviving before me. In fact, I’ve come to use it like a reminder that there’s a possibility for greatness to be found at every moment.
All of a sudden, my mother starts to snicker uncontrollably. I immediately dart my attention her direction just in time to see her playfully bump into Dad. “He’s kidding!”
My father’s brow crinkles in confusion.
“He’s telling some sort of joke, we don’t get, but that he’ll explain!”
“Yeah, I uh…I don’t think so, Mags.”
“Of course, he’s joking,” she insists, still awkwardly laughing. “That’s probably how he got our daughter to fall for him. He’s probably a total hoot!”
This is where I get my out-of-date language from, isn’t it?
“Probably made her laugh and laugh and laugh until she almost cried.” Her amused gaze falls back to Archer. “You a prankster, too? Maybe one of those people who love to pop out from around corners to get people scared and laughing?”
“That just makes him sound like a killer clown,” Dad grumbles between bites.
“Um…,” my boyfriend uncomfortably shifts in his seat a second time, “no ma’am. I’m not a prankster. And what I described regarding how we met was not a joke.”
She snaps her glare to me. “Tell me he’s joking.”
I don’t.
“Jaye Jenkins,” her voice undeniably seethes, “you tell me this young man is joking right now or-”
“It’s not a joke, Mom.”
“What?!”
“Archer was a homeless vet when we first met. And while there was no wooing with concert tickets or expensive meals or romantic trips to Iceland-”
“You went to Iceland?” Archer mumbles in question to me.
“There was lots of reading. And talks about books. And cooking. And exploring places I had always wanted to try but couldn’t seem to find the guts to. He didn’t whisk me away to be this…trophy…wife…I never actually…wanted to be,” the confession stumbles out surprising both of my parents. “He simply…encouraged me to…find my own happy. And everyone is entitled to their own happy.”
Fury and outrage pumps so noticeably in her expression that the waiter decides to walk the other direction as opposed to approaching our table. “You said he was a homeless vet.” She glares at him again, yet he still doesn’t cower. “Where do you live now? What do you do now?”
“He lives with me.”
“In Chris’s house?!” my mother shrieks much too loudly.
“In our house!” I firmly snap back.
“Voices,” Dad promptly reminds on a stern finger point.
“Chris bought that house,” she needlessly reminds.
“And he hated it.”
The gasp out of her doesn’t demolish the courage pouring out of me.
“He bought that house for me. He bought it because I wanted it. Because I didn’t want my kids living in a downtown high rise. He hated that place so much that some nights he made up excuses just to stay where he really wanted. That house has never been more than a museum for the prestigious shit he felt like showing off and an expensive workshop for a hobby that he loved more than he ever loved me.”
“Don’t say that.”
“I can say that, Mom. You…didn’t…know him.” Straightening my spine is done on a breath of confidence. “And had you? Had you really known more than just the fact he was your best friend’s son, that he had more money than he knew how to spend, that he had some of the snobbiest habits, then you’d be fucking appalled. He was selfish. He was careless. Sometimes he was downright heartless. And worst of all…worst fucking of all…I wasn’t treated like a blessing in his life but a burden.” The pounding in my chest harshly continues. “And no mother, no mother who loves her daughter, like I know you love me, would ever want her to be in that type of relationship let alone marriage.”
“Maggie-”
“Mrs. Jenkins,” she hisses at my boyfriend.