Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 70629 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 283(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70629 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 283(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
Getting up, I walk back inside, my stomach now rumbling a little. Opening the big stainless steel fridge, I see that it’s full. I also see that my grandmother has sent over some of my favorite food. I start taking out the chicken potpie when I hear the sound of a car door shut. I look over at the clock on the stove and see that it’s a little after seven.
"Welcome home." I shake my head when I hear the soft knock on the door. Walking to the door, I open it, and a smile fills my face when I see my cousin Ethan there. “This fucking guy,” he says, looking at me. “Holy shit, you grew." He holds up his hand. “I’ve got breakfast."
I move to the side. “Come in,” I say, and when he comes through the doorway, he stops and gives me a hug.
"Glad to have you home,” he says, and I nod.
"It’s good to be home." The words taste sour in my mouth. "I think,” I say, shaking my head. Out of everyone here, Ethan is the one who might understand me the most. He left home when he was twenty-one, and no one saw him for seven years.
I close the door and walk into the kitchen with him. “You were going to eat chicken potpie at seven in the morning?"
"I haven’t had that in six years,” I say, laughing. “Fucking right, I was going to eat it at seven a.m."
"Then I guess you don’t want what’s in the bag?" He holds up the big brown bag in his hands.
"What’s in the bag?" I ask, and he laughs.
"Grandma’s biscuits and gravy that she just made," he says, and my mouth waters just thinking about it.
"I’ll have that on the side with the chicken potpie,” I say, walking over to get plates out. I scoop some pie and pop it in the microwave. "Do you want some coffee?"
"Sure, I’ll have a cup,” he says. I can tell he wants me to be comfortable with him. I pour him a cup of coffee and another one for myself.
He walks over to the fridge and takes the milk out to pour in his coffee. Pulling out the stool at the counter, he sits down, opens the bag, and takes out two containers.
I grab two forks and hand him one as I sit next to him. Opening my container, I moan when I see the food. “You can’t get this anywhere," Ethan says, taking a bite. “No matter where you travel to."
I cut my own piece and close my eyes when the buttery biscuit hits my tongue. The richness of the gravy hits my tongue next along with the little pieces of sausage. “This is the best thing I’ve ever had." I chew and then take a bite of the potpie. “And this."
"Nothing,” he says, taking his own bite. “And I mean nothing is like home cooking." He takes a couple more bites, and neither of us says anything. "So what did they do?"
"Convalescent leave," I answer, not looking at him. “Doctor’s orders."
"Gives you extra time to heal," he says. “Nothing wrong with that."
"I have a training session at nine and then at three,” I say. “I’ll be fine."
"What about talking to someone?" he asks, and I look over at him. “I needed all the help I could get when I got home. No one knew but me," he tells me. “I would sit with this guy who didn’t even say a word back to me. He just let me talk." He finishes chewing and then swallows. “Might do you good."
"Maybe,” I say, avoiding his eyes. “I get re-evaluated in thirty days."
"When is your contract up?" My sip of coffee suddenly tastes bitter on the way down.
"Ninety days," I say.
"Then what are you going to do?" he asks, and I look at him.
"With what?" My leg begins to shake. This is why I didn’t want to come back home. I knew I’d feel guilty when I left them again.
“Are you going to give them another four years?" he asks, and I nod.
"Fucking right,” I say, getting up. "Wouldn’t want to do anything else."
"Have you tried to do anything else?" he asks, and I shrug.
"The farm life might be good for some people,” I say to him. “But not me. I hate it here. I always did."
"You hated it when you were eighteen," he says. “Who knows how you feel now. Things change. People change."
"I know one thing,” I say. “In ninety days, I’m signing another contract." He just stares at me. “I know that this"—I stretch my hands—“is not where I want to end up."
"Well, you’re here for the month," he tells me. “Why don’t you put that chip away and enjoy your family?”
“I don’t have a chip,” I say, and he laughs.