Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 111400 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 557(@200wpm)___ 446(@250wpm)___ 371(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111400 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 557(@200wpm)___ 446(@250wpm)___ 371(@300wpm)
“Well, hi there!” I heard my mother exclaim. “Come on in, Mariah. What do you think of all this snow?”
Breathing a sigh of relief, I went to say hello.
“I like it,” Mariah said, stomping her boots before stepping into the front hall.
“Hey, Mariah,” I called.
“Hi, Miss Cheyenne.” She beamed at me and held up a brown paper bag. “I made place cards for tomorrow. Want to see them?”
“Of course I do! Take your boots off and come put them on the table.”
“How thoughtful of you,” my mother said, shutting the door behind Mariah as the girl tugged off her boots. “Can I take your coat?”
“Yes, thanks.” Mariah unzipped her jacket and handed it to my mother, then scooped up the paper bag again.
“The kids loved your turkey,” I told her, leading the way into the dining room. “Thanks again for making it.”
“You’re welcome. I used the idea to make these.” She stuck her hand in the bag and pulled out seven miniature versions of the turkeys we’d made last night, each of them with three colorful feathers and labeled with a name.
“Oh, they’re so cute!” I exclaimed, picking up the one that said Miss Cheyenne in a fourth grader’s round, swirly cursive. “I love them! Mom, look what Mariah made.”
My mother came in and praised Mariah’s work. “Adorable! Would you like to set them out?”
“Sure,” Mariah said happily. “Mrs. Dempsey, you should sit here, because it’s the head of the table,” she went on, setting my mother’s place card at one end.
“And also the closest to the kitchen, which definitely helps me,” my mother said.
“I’ll sit here,” Mariah said, placing her turkey on the side of the table with the three settings. “Can I sit by you, Miss Cheyenne?”
“Of course.” I set my turkey on the plate next to hers.
“And Daddy can sit on the other side of you.” She set the card that said Daddy at the setting to my right.
“Perfect,” I said, because I was no better than a seventh grader who wanted to sit next to her crush in the lunchroom.
“Then Grandma at this end of the table, and Uncle Griffin and Aunt Blair across from us.” She finished setting out all the turkeys and looked at us for approval. “Is that okay?”
“It’s marvelous,” my mother said with a smile. Then she looked wistfully at the table. “Maybe next year we’ll have eight places to set.”
“Mom,” I said, shooting her a look. We’d managed to go all day without an argument, and I didn’t want one now.
“What?” She held up her hands, all wide-eyed with innocence. “I’m just saying, eight is a nice, round, even number. Don’t you think, Mariah?”
“Um, yes.” Mariah looked uneasily at me, like she wasn’t sure how to answer. “Eight is an even number.”
“See?” My mother gestured to Mariah. “Even a nine-year-old knows that you can’t sit around waiting for Mr. Right to just appear like a rabbit out of a hat. Relationships aren’t magic, Cheyenne. They take some effort.”
“I know, Mom,” I said through my teeth.
“I’m not sure you do, what with the outfit you’re wearing.” She gestured with distaste at my clothing. “It does absolutely nothing for your cute figure.”
Admittedly, my leggings had a hole in the butt and below one knee, and my vintage Queen sweatshirt had seen better days—probably in 1982. But I’d worn them for cleaning, not a night at the opera. “This isn’t an outfit, Mother. It’s sweats.”
“Mariah, do you like that outfit?”
“It looks comfy,” Mariah offered.
“Comfy is for babies and grandmothers,” my mother huffed. “You can’t go around being comfy and expecting to attract the love of your life.”
I rolled my eyes. “Don’t listen to her, Mariah. A good person looks beyond appearances to what really matters—your heart.”
“Not if it’s covered by that ratty old sweatshirt,” my mother muttered under her breath.
“If a man doesn’t appreciate Freddie Mercury, he is not the man for me.” Shooting her one last evil glare, I turned Mariah by the shoulders and steered her toward the front door. “Come on, honey. I’ll walk you back. I have something to return to your dad, and I could use some fresh air.”
Of course Cole got home from work while I was leaving his house in my frumpy old sweats and snow boots.
“Hey,” he said, walking toward the back porch from the garage. He took my breath away in his uniform like he always did. “How did it go with the turkeys today?”
“It went great.” I gave him my brightest smile, hoping it would distract him from my raggedy clothes and hair. “The kids had fun.”
“Good.” He stepped onto the porch and looked me up and down. “Still no coat? It’s thirty degrees out here, Cheyenne.”
I laughed. “Don’t scold me, Dad. I just left your jacket inside. Mariah stopped over and I walked her back so I could return it. I needed to cool off anyway.”