Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 81535 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 408(@200wpm)___ 326(@250wpm)___ 272(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81535 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 408(@200wpm)___ 326(@250wpm)___ 272(@300wpm)
“My father died when I was two, and my mother passed away when I was eighteen,” I say with practiced casualness, even as my chest tightens unpleasantly. “Liver disease.”
Ted pauses with a spoonful of cranberry sauce halfway to his plate. “Both of them?”
“No, just my mother. My father was killed in a fight.” A prison fight, to be exact, but they don’t need to know that. This is already more than I’ve disclosed to anyone in years—well, anyone except Emma. I’d felt compelled to share the whole ugly truth with her, and now it seems like the same impulse is at play with her grandparents.
Some irrational, illogical part of me wants these kind, genuine people to know all the dark, fucked-up parts of me…. to know and to like me anyway. To let me be a part of their warm, tight-knit family despite the cesspool from which I’ve come.
Disgusted with the pathetic urge, I open my mouth to change the topic, but Mary is not done. “So how did you manage?” she asks me softly. “How did you get through college entirely on your own?”
Shrugging, I spear a piece of turkey with my fork. “Same as most students: with scholarships, loans, and part-time work.” Lots of part-time work—so much that my total work hours exceeded two full-time jobs during some weeks. I don’t say that, though, as Emma’s grandparents already look concerned for the college-aged me.
“Most students have family they can rely on for incidental expenses and such,” Ted says, frowning. “It must’ve been incredibly hard, not having that safety net. Did you graduate with a lot of debt, like our Emma? She wouldn’t take a penny from us after high school, either.”
I glance over at her, and she looks away, her face reddening as if from embarrassment. Is this part of her money hang-ups?
Does she not want people to know about her student loans?
“I had some debt, yes,” I tell Ted. Very little and nothing I didn’t manage to pay off within a month of graduation, thanks to the success of my early investments, but I keep my mouth shut about that as well.
I don’t want my kitten to feel like her strained finances are something she needs to hide.
Mary must sense her granddaughter’s discomfort, because she smiles and says, “Well, you’re clearly a long way off from those days, so all is well that ends well.” Reaching across the table, she picks up one of the dishes and looks around. “More stuffing?”
I gladly accept, and the conversation returns to lighter topics. Ted starts telling me all about Emma as a baby, which causes her to laugh and blush furiously, and Mary keeps urging everyone to try this dish and that, to have an extra serving here and another bite there.
My pants won’t button tomorrow, but it’s totally worth it to see the smile on the older woman’s face each time I accept the offering and shower her with praise.
We’re almost done with dessert—a made-from-scratch pumpkin pie—when Ted innocently steps on a landmine.
He asks when exactly we’re planning to have Emma move in with me.
She stiffens right away and shoots me a Death Star glare, her hand squeezing my knee in a silent warning. I know what she wants—for me to stay quiet while she spouts off some bullshit about how we’re not sure yet, blah, blah, blah—but I’m not about to let this opportunity slide.
“By the end of next week,” I say before she can get a word in. “We’ll start packing up Emma’s place as soon as we get back to New York.”
“Oh, that’s so wonderful!” Mary’s smile is brighter than a solar flare. “The sooner, the better, am I right?”
“That’s right.” I grin, ignoring Emma’s fingers digging into my leg under the table. “I can’t wait to have her with me all the time.”
Her grandparents look like cats lapping at a saucer of cream, while Emma’s hand on my leg turns into a vicious claw and her narrowed gaze tells me she’d like to murder me. Slowly. After first roasting me over a campfire, marshmallow-style.
“There are still a number of logistics we need to straighten out,” she says through clenched teeth. “So I don’t think next week would work.”
I give her my most innocent look. “Are you talking about movers? Because I told you, I’ll take care of that. Besides, you don’t need to bring any of your furniture; my place has everything we need.”
“Emma, sweetheart…” Mary lays a gentle hand on her granddaughter’s forearm. “You don’t have to be afraid of this. I know change is uncomfortable for you, but this is the good kind… the moving-forward kind. Your grandfather and I thought we were close when we were dating, but it was nothing compared to how we felt once we got married and started living together. This is a risk for you, I know, but it’s one you can’t avoid. Not if you want to build a life together.”