Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 90098 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90098 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
“Dad?” Alvin called.
“Yeah, bud?” I paused outside his room and pushed open the door a foot or two.
No need to worry about his two fish tanks. He kept them in pristine condition, one with fish and the other with colorful shrimp. And he actually made some money off the shrimp when they reproduced. A few times a year, he sold some off and made a couple hundred bucks each time. The blue ones were the rarest.
He looked over his shoulder. “Can you watch this video, please? I’m wondering why it doesn’t have as many views as I usually have.”
Fuck. I opened the door wider and stepped in, and I was already scrambling for what to tell him. I knew fuck-all about this computer shit and the social media world. I did know he was popular. He had a large following of nearly two thousand people all over the world.
I joined him at the computer and dropped my hand to his neck, rubbing it gently.
He pushed play on the video.
It seemed to be the same kind of video he always posted. He’d claimed Ma’s bathtub and sink weren’t white enough, so he’d bought a white enamel basin that he used. He had a tripod for his phone too, and it was angled directly over the basin as he broke apart a bath bomb in the water. This one was dark blue and had something sparkly in it.
I’d learned that the sound was important. Something-something ASMR. It was soothing or relaxing to some with similar disorders—autism and ADHD and the like.
“I usually have three times as many views,” he said.
I could throw out a word I’d heard him use many times. I cleared my throat. “Could it be an algorithm issue? The video looks great to me.”
He tapped his chin and eyed the screen pensively. “They do change those a lot.”
I wouldn’t know. It was gibberish to me. Angie, on the other hand. She knew this stuff. She helped him from time to time.
She’d helped me too, because I’d been a train wreck when I’d given him the computer for his birthday four or five years ago. I’d imagined him getting scammed and lured into the dark corners of the internet. Then Angie had installed and activated all kinds of blocks. She said it was common for parents of young children—but she’d gone the extra mile with software that let me restrict his use further.
“I think the next one will be popular,” Alvin said firmly. “I’m doing the rainbow colors again.”
“That sounds good. People love a rainbow.” I didn’t know what the fuck I was saying. I was just happy that he was happy. We were going on two weeks without a panic attack, and that was all that mattered to me. To minimize his stress and find a balance between avoiding triggers and overcoming them.
I let him get back to his videos, and I wandered over to the tanks. It looked like Molly was pregnant again. I bent over and took in all the greenery and fish and rocks. He loved to redecorate but refused to use decorations that didn’t belong in the ocean. No colorful hideouts made of plastic. It had to be sturdy little rock caves, tiny logs, and plants.
I couldn’t lie; it had a calming effect on me too to watch them swim around in there.
“Is Molly expecting more babies?” I asked.
“Yes! Any day now.” Alvin wheeled his chair over to me and adjusted his glasses. “I’m gonna prepare the breeder box today. As you know, she likes to eat her young.”
That damn Molly.
She did serve her purpose, though. Alvin could count his friends on one hand, and one of them was Paulie, who ran the local pet store where Alvin bought feed and whatnot. There was no money in the aquarium fish my boy liked, but he did have a deal with Paulie. If Alvin supplied Paulie with baby fish fry, Alvin received discounts and occasionally free feed.
I called that a good hobby, one that almost paid for itself.
Even if it hadn’t, I wouldn’t have objected. He asked for so few things. Everything he loved was right here in this little room. His computer, a smartphone, noise-canceling headphones, his two tanks, ingredients to make bath bombs, and his seashell collection.
I pressed a kiss to his temple.
He quirked a grin. “You always do that.”
“Because I love you mad amounts.”
He snickered and shoved his shoulder to my arm. “Same. Clown.”
I chuckled and straightened up. “You hungry? I thought I’d make pan bread.”
He beamed. “With melted butter?”
“You know it.”
“Yes! I want fourteen thousand pieces, thank you!”
I grinned, fucking loving seeing him this way. “I’ll holler in a week when they’re all done, then.”
He laughed at that.
I left his room with a smile on my face, and Ma gave me a knowing look over the rims of her glasses. Not that it stopped her from knitting. She could do that blindfolded.