Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 95775 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 479(@200wpm)___ 383(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95775 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 479(@200wpm)___ 383(@250wpm)___ 319(@300wpm)
My phone vibrates. It’s my mother calling. I slide softly out of the bed to walk to the living room before answering it.
“Hey.”
“Can I have Emerson today?”
I laugh at her blatant disregard for her daughter now that she has a granddaughter. “I’m good, how are you?” My mother loves Emmy as much as I do—I’m convinced of that. When Emmy turned six weeks old, my mother started taking her for a few hours at a time while I worked. She actually stayed at her house overnight last month—it was Emmy’s first night away from me since she’d been born. She had fallen asleep at my mother’s, and neither of us wanted to wake her, so I went back for her the next morning.
“Rob and I are close by; we could come pick her up in twenty minutes. We’re going to the botanical gardens; I thought it would be fun to get her out. I’m sure you could use the break.”
“Yeah, sure. I’ll get her dressed.”
* * *
Half an hour later, there’s a knock at my door. I open it and let my mother and Rob inside. My mother beelines across the living room, straight to Emmy, who is on a pallet on the floor.
“Hi, Mom.” I say it teasingly.
“Look at this adorable outfit,” my mother says, picking her up. “Did I buy her this?”
“No, it’s a hand-me-down from Rylee, actually.” It’s nice that Rylee is six months older. We haven’t had to buy Emmy many clothes because Allysa gives me more than enough of Rylee’s. And they’re always in great condition because I don’t think Rylee ever wears an outfit twice.
Emmy is wearing the outfit Rylee wore at her first birthday party. I was hoping it would eventually be passed down to Emmy, because it’s adorable. It’s a pair of pink leggings with green whole watermelons on them, and a green long-sleeved top with a pink slice of watermelon in the center of it.
My mother has bought almost everything else Emmy wears, including the blue jacket I’m putting on her right now.
“That doesn’t match her outfit,” my mother says. “Where’s the pink jacket I bought her?”
“It’s too little, and it’s a jacket, and she’s one year old. It doesn’t matter if she doesn’t match.”
My mother huffs, and I can tell by that look on her face that Emmy is going to come home in a brand-new jacket this afternoon. I kiss Emmy on the cheek, and my mother heads for the door.
I hand Rob the diaper bag, and he hoists it over his shoulder. “Want me to carry her?” he asks my mother.
She squeezes Emmy tighter. “I’ve got her.” She addresses me over her shoulder. “We’ll be back in a few hours.”
“About what time?” I ask her. I don’t usually clarify a time with her, but I’m thinking about asking Atlas what he’s doing right now. We can maybe grab lunch since we’re both off today and I’m kid-free.
“I’ll text you. Why? Are you going somewhere?” she asks. “I figured you’d just catch up on sleep.”
I don’t dare tell her I might sneak away to meet a guy. She’d ask me questions well past the botanical garden closing hours. “Yeah, I’ll probably just sleep. I’ll keep my phone on, though. Have fun.”
My mother is out the door and down the hallway, but Rob pauses and looks at me. “Make sure you park your car in the same spot. She’ll notice if you move it, and she’ll ask questions.” He winks, a clear indication that he can read me better than she can.
“Thanks for the heads-up,” I whisper.
I close the door and go find my phone. I’ve been rushing to get Emmy dressed and out the door, so I haven’t looked at my phone since I hung up with my mother. I have a missed call from Atlas from twenty minutes ago.
My stomach flips with anticipation. I hope he’s off today. I use my phone camera to check my appearance, and then I call him back over video chat.
I hated when he called me over video chat the first time, but now it feels like the natural thing to do. I always want to see his face. I like seeing what he’s wearing and where he’s at and the faces he makes when he says the things he says.
I’m already smiling when I hear the sound that indicates he’s answered the call. He lifts the phone, and when I finally make out what I’m looking at, I can see he’s standing in an unfamiliar kitchen. It’s white and bright and different from the kitchen I remember when I visited his house almost two years ago.
“Morning,” he says. He’s smiling, but he looks tired, like he either just woke up or is about to fall asleep.
“Hey.”
“Sleep well?” he asks.
“I did. Finally.” I squint my eyes trying to see past him. “Did you remodel your kitchen?”