Total pages in book: 168
Estimated words: 162369 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 812(@200wpm)___ 649(@250wpm)___ 541(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 162369 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 812(@200wpm)___ 649(@250wpm)___ 541(@300wpm)
At exactly five p.m., Shadow’s black furry ears perk up, and he lifts his head from the dusty floor. Lily’s car has just pulled into the driveway.
“Let’s go see your mom,” I say, lifting Brian from his playpen. His little fingers wind around my hair as I carry him outside with Shadow trailing behind me.
“How’s my little man today?” Lily beams as she meets us at the edge of the driveway. Brian changed her in so many ways. There’s almost always a smile on her face now. She even wears pastels sometimes.
“The usual. Laughing, pooping, and napping.” I trade her the baby for a plastic bag she’s carrying. “Something smells good, what’d you get?”
“Subs. Steak and cheese for you, tuna salad for me.”
“You must’ve read my mind. I’m starving.”
Lily puts the baby down in his crib in the living room while I set the table. The floor groans beneath my boots, not letting me forget how I bit the bullet last week and ripped up the linoleum—my first step in remodeling the house. I was surprised to find hardwood underneath. This weekend, I’ll sand and stain it. That had been the plan since day one. I can still hear Bri’s voice echoing through the walls, sucking me back in time to the day we moved in. Clutching the house keys in one hand and my hand in the other, she’d dragged me from room to room, telling me all her decorating ideas with breathless excitement that was contagious. She had a vision, and as a guy who never had a real home, all I wanted was to make her dreams come true and live in that vision with her.
But, like me, the house has sat stagnant for years. Growing older, slowly deteriorating, never changing, just witnessing life move on all around it.
Penny’s absence and the baby’s presence suddenly changed all that for me. It was like an invisible hand came out of nowhere and slapped the shit out of me. Something inside me finally snapped.
Life is too short to be sad and spent waiting for things to change. Because the harsh truth is that things don’t change or get better unless you put in the effort to actually make them better. No magical life fairy is going to come and sprinkle gold dust on our asses to fix us.
I have love now. Maybe not the love I thought I’d have, but I have it with Lily and my adorable little grandson. And, of course, my dog.
“I stopped by the paint store on the way home,” Lily says, sliding three miniature squares of paint colors across the table. “These are my favorites for the kitchen walls.”
I swallow a mouthful of shaved steak and point to one. “I like this one.”
“Me too. It’s called eucalyptus.”
“Looks like light green to me.”
“That one was Penny’s favorite, too.”
Hearing her name has a visceral effect on me. My heart throttles against my rib cage. I forget how to chew. I completely stop breathing.
Forcing my food down my throat, I ask, “How do you know that?”
“She called me while I was at the paint store. I haven’t heard from her in weeks.”
That must be nice. I haven’t heard from her in over a year.
I want to ask a thousand questions. Where is she? How is she? How did she sound? Did she ask about me?
“How’s she doing?” I ask nonchalantly. My jaw tenses over the words.
Lily nods vaguely while she picks the lettuce off her sandwich. “What part of no lettuce is so hard to understand?” she says. “Penny’s okay, I guess. She sounded tired and a bit distant. I wish she was here; she’d love the baby. I think we could cheer her up. I really miss her.”
Me too, I miss everything about her. Her smile. Her laugh. Her voice. Her gentle touch. Her little smart-ass comments. The way she looks at me. Her creative mind. The way the house feels with her in it. The taste of her lips. The way she makes me believe there’s a tomorrow.
I can’t stop myself from prodding Lily for more. “So, is she living with her parents now or in her own place?”
Lily shakes her head and wipes her mouth with a napkin. “No, she’s still at the rehab place.”
“Are you serious?” My voice rises with shock. “I thought she was out of there.”
“Not yet. She said she’ll probably be going home soon, though.”
Is that why she hasn’t called me? Because she’s still there? Emotionally detoxing? And here I’ve been envisioning her sitting on the beach in California, writing poetry, wondering if she forgot about me, and telling myself it's okay as long as she’s better.
“She’s been in that fucking place for over a year,” I say.
“I know. She hates it.”
I don’t like any of this. This whole situation seems totally off to me. I want to fly out there and bust her out of that place.