Total pages in book: 146
Estimated words: 137077 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 685(@200wpm)___ 548(@250wpm)___ 457(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 137077 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 685(@200wpm)___ 548(@250wpm)___ 457(@300wpm)
Eighteen minutes later—Cameron because he’s punctual, Grace because she’s eager for anything—they appear in the kitchen. Grace is wearing tennis shoes, jeans, and a hoodie, and I can see the sleeves of the long-sleeved shirt she’s wearing beneath it peeking out at the sleeves. “Good layers,” I tell her approvingly. Cameron has on handmade Oxfords, jeans, a button-up, and a navy-blue sweater that makes his eyes pop. I swear he’s standing taller, eyes filled with anticipation, like he wants a compliment too, so I give him a little poke. “Good, except you probably want tennis shoes or boots.” I point at his feet, and he looks at his, Grace’s, and then mine, which are shod in my favorite combat boots. “Trust me.”
I bought these things at a thrift store, nearly new. They’re name brand Dr. Martens, not the knockoff shit that’ll fall apart with a hard sneeze, and they’ve seen me through hell and back. I don’t think today will be that bad, but I definitely chose them, and my jeans and sweatshirt, knowing what we’re about to do.
“Where are we going?” Cameron asks suspiciously.
“It’s a surprise.” I flash him a coy look, daring him to say he can’t go after already showing up dressed and ready. He doesn’t like surprises. Unless they’re planned, scheduled on his calendar, and pre-approved by him, which by definition, means it’s not a surprise. “Go change.”
Poke, poke, poke.
“Yeah, Dad. Hurry up so we can go! I love surprises!”
For as reluctant as Cameron is, Grace is whole-heartedly on board with whatever’s coming her way today. I’m hoping that means her calls with Bella and Trinity went well, but we’ll get to that conversation. In the meantime, I want to take her mind off last night and put a smile on her face. More importantly, Grace’s eagerness works, and Cameron returns in a pair of ankle-high winter boots that are actually perfect, although he doesn’t know it.
We take my car, Grace climbing in the back without comment and Cameron folding himself into the passenger seat. He’s frowning, obviously not happy about the lack of control over the driving or the destination, but that only makes me smile wider at him.
Pokity-poke-poke.
I wiggle in my seat, laughing internally at his increasingly stern expression. A few minutes later, I tell them both, “Okay, close your eyes.” In the rearview mirror, I see Grace quickly do as I’ve asked, even covering her closed eyes with her hand, but when I turn my gaze to Cameron, he’s staring right back at me. His eyes are hard, his expression flat, and his jaw set. I blink innocently, not backing down, and slowly, giving me a warning the whole way, his eyes slide shut.
He needs fun in his life. Both he and Grace do. Especially together. Which is why I’ve brought them here…
“Okay, open!”
I’m most curious about Cameron’s reaction, but I keep my attention on Grace, figuring her usual happiness will counteract Cameron’s sure-to-be grumpy response. As she opens her eyes, they go wide, her mouth drops open into a perfect O, and then her excitement… falls faster than a bowling ball off the Empire State Building.
“A pumpkin patch?” she asks, disappointment bleeding into every word. “Aren’t those for little kids?”
“Uhm, I don’t know. I’ve never been to one,” I say uncertainly, looking out the car’s window at the hand-painted signs proclaiming ‘Peter’s Patch’, the rows of orange pumpkins, a tall scarecrow on a stick with a few people posing for a picture beside it, and more. “There’s a maze, a hay ride, and a petting zoo, plus you can pick a pumpkin to take home, all as a package deal. I thought it sounded fun, but it’s okay, we don’t have to stay.”
I end with a dismissive shrug, trying to quickly swallow down my own disappointment so it doesn’t show. I wanted this to be a good day, so I’d gone searching for local activities. I thought I’d found the perfect thing, but apparently not.
I risk looking at Cameron, expecting him to be appalled at the idea of messy hay, dirty animals, and dirt-covered pumpkins. But I find him peering back like he’s sliding the puzzle pieces of me around in his head.
Good luck, I think again. I’m definitely a puzzle, but there’s no smooth edges that fit together nicely and the picture when I’m complete is just a bunch of squiggly lines and random dots. I’m like modern art, as done by a child, with half-dried out glue sticks, glitter shakers, and fuzzy pompoms. I might not even have all the pieces, if I’m being honest.
“Let’s do this,” he declares.
Shocked to my core, I gawk at him. “Really?”
“Really?” Grace echoes from between the seats, where she’s leaned forward to be involved in the conversation and see out the front window. She scans the patch like maybe she’s missing something vital, like a Starbucks kiosk.