Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 82524 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 413(@200wpm)___ 330(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82524 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 413(@200wpm)___ 330(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
“You don’t like naps?” Stefano asks her and all I can do is cut my pizza in my plate and push it around. My stomach is in my throat after today, and I’m afraid if I do eat, it’ll just come right back up.
“I like naps sometimes,” she tells him, “but sometimes I don’t like it, but they don’t make me nap if I don’t want, they give me books.”
“That’s good,” Stefano returns, eating up every single word that she is saying. “Reading is good.”
“It makes me smart,” she declares, then looks at me and smiles. “Right, Momma?”
“Yes,” I reply, nodding at her. I don’t know what else they talk about because I’m in my own head.
“Momma,” Avery says, “I’m done.”
“Okay.” I look at her plate and see she ate it all. “Go brush your teeth and get your pj’s on.”
She nods at me and starts to go down the hall before she looks over at Stefano. “Will you be here tomorrow?”
“I will.” He smiles at her and she smiles back at him.
She slips back on the plastic shoe that fell off her before. Only when it’s on does she go to the bathroom. I hear her dragging the stool to the counter. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” I say, turning back to him, “just—”
“Oh, I know.” He leans back in the chair; the black shirt pulls against his chest. His green eyes are a bit darker than they were when he got here, but it’s also because the light is dim. “That was—”
“Brutal,” I fill in for him as I finally drop my fork.
“I thought I was going to throw up,” he admits to me and I can’t help but be a little relieved.
“Good,” I say to him, and his eyes go big. “At least it wasn’t just me.”
“Have you told your parents about me?” he asks the question, and it shocks me for a minute. I think about lying to him, but it’ll only be a matter of time before he knows the truth.
I look over to the bathroom door, hearing the water running before I tell him, “I don’t speak with my parents.” I want to say, after all this time, it doesn’t bother me, but it does. I think it will always bother me.
He looks at me shocked, and I know he’s going to ask me why, so I just tell him, my voice going very low. “When I found out I was pregnant and told them.” I look down at my plate, not wanting to look at him when I say the next part. Except my pride gets the best of me and I lean back and put my shoulders straight. “It was either get rid of it or do it on my own. So I’m doing it on my own.”
His jaw goes tight and I see his hands ball into fists on the table, his eyes moving back and forth as he looks into mine. “Mommmmmmm, I’m done!” Avery shouts from the bathroom. “Can you come and help me?”
“I should get in there and wipe up the water she must have spilled all over the place.” I get up. “I’ll come back and clean up.”
“I’ll clean up,” he offers, getting up. “You go take care of that.” He motions with his chin for me to go to the bathroom. I walk away from him before he sees how much this whole day has affected me. “Did we brush our teeth?” I ask when I walk into the bathroom and step into a puddle of water.
“I did,” she confirms, looking at me and showing me her teeth. “My dress got wet.” She looks down at the pink dress.
“It did,” I say, grabbing a towel and putting it on the water puddle so she doesn’t slip. I sit on the edge of the bathtub before I pull the dress off her. “I’m going to hang this,” I tell her of the dress. “How about we take off all the jewelry?” I grab her hand, taking off the rings and putting them on the counter before I grab a washrag and wash the sauce off her face. “Did you like the pizza?”
“It was good,” she replies, not the least bit fazed that she met her father for the first time.
“It was,” I agree with her as I take the bandanna off her head and grab the brush to brush her hair. “Go get your nightgown on,” I tell her and she hops out of the bathroom and toward her room.
I hang her dress on the back of the door and finish cleaning up the bathroom when I hear her yell, “Stefano, do you want to read me a story?”
I close my eyes and push away the little tinge of sadness I have because it’s always been me putting her to bed. It’s always been me telling her the bedtime story. It’s always been me and now I’m going to have to share her. “Of course I want to read you a story,” I hear Stefano say, and I have to be happy he wants to do all the things. I have to be happy he didn’t fight he was a father. I have to be happy he didn’t just walk away from us without looking back. I walk out and turn off the bathroom light, seeing all the food has been put away and the dishes washed and in the dish rack.