Total pages in book: 47
Estimated words: 46838 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 234(@200wpm)___ 187(@250wpm)___ 156(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46838 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 234(@200wpm)___ 187(@250wpm)___ 156(@300wpm)
I want him to reply, Don’t be silly. I want to know everything about you. We’re going to be together for a long, long time, after all.
But seconds pass, then minutes, time ticking until it’s almost been thirty.
I stare down at the phone, wondering if I’ve annoyed him. Or maybe he lost control of his lust.
I remember watching a TV show where one of the characters mentioned cleaning the pipes and masturbating so they could think clearly.
Maybe that’s all this was.
I try to figure out how it could be a trick. Again.
But I come up with nothing. Again.
I didn’t say anything too suggestive. It was all him.
I’m jolted from my thoughts when there’s a crash from the next room.
Right away, I’m on my feet, rushing into the living room.
Mom stares across the room as soda drips down the wall, the shattered glass glistening in the dusty lamplight. Her hands are at her sides, her teeth bared, her hair all wild like she’s been pulling at it.
Guilt slams into me.
I should’ve sensed the signs in her instead of retreating to my bedroom to fantasies that will never come true. At least not in the way I want.
“Mom?” I approach her cautiously, my hands raised. “It’s okay.”
“It’s not okay,” she says in a numb voice. “Your dad’s gone. There’s nothing okay about that.”
I bite down on my anger. Try my best to put a smile on my face and into my voice. “Smashing a glass won’t bring him back.”
She looks at me blankly. “I didn’t mean to do that. I don’t even remember it.”
Her words make my heart shatter just a little bit more, the way they always do. It’s like she cracks me open an inch at a time as I remember the woman she was before Dad died.
Okay, she always had her issues. Both my parents did.
But she was stronger than this, able to shield me from the worst of Dad’s moods, able to function.
I never knew how reliant on him she was.
It makes me feel lost.
“Let’s just sit down and cool off.”
Approaching her slowly, I raise my hands, feeling like I’m warily walking toward some wild animal. It’s another stab of guilt right to the belly, the tone I’m using, the caution I have to use just to talk with my mom.
She lets me touch her shoulder and guide her to the chair and then looks up at me, her features trembling, eyes shining.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I took another pill.”
I grit my teeth, trying to fight off the anger.
She never responds well if I let out my true feelings about this, but she knows my opinion about her pills… in times of crisis, they can come in handy, but she’s been turning to them more and more frequently since the doctor prescribed them.
“I think you should give them to me for the evening,” I say.
She nods, looking far younger than her age. It’s like I’m the grownup here.
Me – the woman who just had her first orgasm.
But at least that means Killian doesn’t find the age gap weird.
Unless this is a trick somehow.
I can’t figure out how, though.
My mind’s going in circles.
I focus on the simple tasks of going into the kitchen, finding Mom’s medication, and pocketing it.
Then I pour her another glass of water, tucking the dustpan and brush under my arm as I carry it into the living room.
She’s sitting back, breathing softly. The medication does this to her if she takes too much. It makes her erratic and then sleepy, transforming her into a toddler.
“I’m trying,” Mom says softly. “I just never knew who I was without your Dad.”
“I know,” I reply tightly, brushing the glass into the pan, then wiping the area down with a towel.
Her words would make a sane woman think about how they could relate to my situation. If I’m ready to throw myself at Killian now – and I am, it hurts how ready I am – surely I should be worried about my identity melting away as Mom’s did.
Until I’m not sure who I am, only who I’m supposed to be when he is around.
And when he’s gone….
Poof, I disappear.
But my identity doesn’t melt away, as miraculous as that is.
That could be because the dream relationship in my mind has nothing to do with real life, no connection to reality. In my mind, Killian supports my editing career and doesn’t criticize me or hold me back like Dad did with Mom.
In my unrealistic fantasies, my man smiles whenever I tell him I’ve accomplished something.
After cleaning up, I sit next to Mom. She hugs me close, and I wrap my arm around her.
My phone’s on the coffee table.
It hasn’t vibrated yet.
I hinted that I’d have to explain some stuff about Dad if he wanted to understand why I couldn’t meet.
Maybe that’s too much for him. Way too soon.