Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 66074 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 330(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66074 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 330(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
She nods vigorously, her little baby-toothed smile making my heart clench. “Yes, Mama! And Uncle Neil got me popsicles after he saw the size of it. He said, ‘Good grief, Luna. That’s the size of a whole popsicle,’” she mimics in a deep voice. “And it made me want a popsicle, so he went and got me a whole box of them!”
I look over at my sister, trying to hide my slightly disgusted face from my daughter. Astrid reads the question in my eyes.
“Apparently, your husband likes to see what comes out of her so he can congratulate her on a job well done. Neil happened to walk by the bathroom just as she finished, so the next thing I knew, he was on FaceTime with Seth, showing him what was in the toilet.”
I groan as I put Luna back on her feet, finally stepping into the house and shutting the door behind me. I reach down and pet Scout, Neil and Astrid’s Australian Shepherd, who has come to greet me, as I tell my sister, “Oh, God. It’s spreading. It was cute at first, when it was just Seth. But then suddenly she started demanding I take pictures of it to send him when he’s at work if he doesn’t answer a FaceTime call. And now she’s getting you guys to do it too?”
Astrid gives me an evil grin. “You know kinks are hereditary, right? Our girl likes her praise… just like her mom and auntie!”
I smack her on the arm and shudder. “Stop it. She’s four.”
She holds her hands up. “Hey, don’t blame me. We can’t help we still love to be called a good girl. We just didn’t realize how… motivating it was when we were young too.”
“Gross.” I give her a face as mine flushes, then hang my purse on the coat tree in the foyer and follow her into the kitchen, seeing Luna head in the direction of the living room with Scout, where I hear an episode of Gabby’s Dollhouse playing from the TV. As I hike up one leg to sit on a barstool at the kitchen island, I sigh, slumping my upper half over the white marble.
“What’s the matter, little sis? You’ve seemed down the past couple of days. Everything all right?” Astrid asks, and I pull myself up to prop my head in my hand.
“I don’t know. It’s like… just a second ago. You so easily mentioned having a praise kink, as if that’s a normal thing to slip into a conversation. And yes, I’m your sister, and we talk about everything, so like… why do I still get all red and embarrassed about it? Shouldn’t I be immune to it by now?”
She waves her hand at me as she uses the other to open the refrigerator, as if to swat away my worries. “Oh, Twy. That’s nothing to be concerned about. It’s adorable that you still get all blushy over stuff like that. Your innocence is part of your charm.” When I don’t respond, she looks at me as she sets a variety of fresh fruits on the island between us, and her smile falls when she sees I have tears in my eyes. “Sis! What—? This is really concerning you?”
I swipe at the tears that spill when I shake my head, even though my mouth says, “I know it’s silly.”
Astrid hurries around the island and wraps her arms around my neck, pulling me down to squeeze my head to her chest. And like always, she’s the one to take my glasses off my face so she can tighten her grip, surrounding me in her familiar, comforting scent. I have no choice but to allow her T-shirt to absorb my tears and whatever might be coming out of my nose.
She’s the emotional one out of the two of us, and it’s a rare occasion that I actually cry. But ever since we were young, this was the position she always put me in, as if she wanted to smother my sadness away.
“It’s not silly, Twyla. None of your feelings are silly. Every single one of your emotions deserves validation, because you can’t help the way something makes you feel. It’s like a reflex. You don’t make yourself be sad. It just happens,” she states, and I can’t help but let out a little laugh.
“Is this what happens when you marry a therapist? You start sounding like one?” I ask her.
She squeezes me even tighter for a second before sitting me back up, her warm hands gripping my biceps for a moment to make sure I didn’t get dizzy and fall off the stool from the change in altitude. She hands me my glasses, and when I get them in place, she swipes my dark hair out of my face and smiles gently at me. “Maybe. But this reaction makes me think you might need the real deal. You want me to see if Neil is finished with his last telehealth appointment of the day?”