Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 73963 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 370(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73963 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 370(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
“Thanks.” I offer Max a grateful smile as he accepts the call.
“Hi, Ms. Monroe,” Max says to Jean. “I am answering so Willa can finish getting the cake ready.”
“It’s wonderful to see you, Max. How are you?”
“I can’t complain at all.” Max walks out of the kitchen, his voice fading with him.
“I’ve always liked Max,” my mom murmurs next to me as she unwraps paper plates and cups with dinosaurs on them.
I just smile at her.
“He’s handsome, too.” She winks at me.
“I’m not having this conversation in the middle of my child’s birthday party,” I whisper, making her laugh. “Is the hot chocolate gone?”
“Oh, yeah, they blew through that in the first thirty minutes,” she says.
“Perfect. They can have juice with their cake.”
We set about pouring juice into the cups and setting the dining room table—currently covered in a vinyl Star Wars tablecloth—with the plates, silverware, and drinks. There’s a sack full of party favors for each guest, and in addition to the cake decorated by Maisey, I have cupcakes, just in case we need extra.
I learned early to always be prepared going into a child’s birthday party.
Alex’s place is at the head of the table, so I set the cake there so he can blow out the candles.
“It’s going to be so cool,” a little boy named Zane says as the boys start to pour into the house. They shed their winter gear in the garage like I asked and come running to the dining room.
“You can sit anywhere you want,” I inform them. “Are you ready for some cake?”
“Yeah!” they exclaim.
Goodness, nine-year-old boys can make a lot of noise. My ears may never stop ringing.
“Alex, you’re up here, buddy.” My kiddo joins me, sitting in his chair, and I light his candles. “Say hi to Nana and Papa.” I gesture to Max, who’s pointing my phone at us.
“Hi,” Alex says, smiling and waving. “I’m going to blow out the candles now.”
“Okay, boys, let’s sing.”
The birthday song may not be perfectly harmonized or even in the right key, but it’s heartfelt and makes my boy feel like a million bucks. And when the song is over, he scrunches his eyes closed tightly to make his wish and then blows all nine candles out on the first try.
Max passes my phone to Alex so he can talk to Nana and Papa while I cut the cake, and my mom passes it out to the boys, who all dig in like rabid dogs.
There’s not even one drop of juice spilled—a miracle in and of itself—and within fifteen minutes, every crumb of cake has been devoured, green and orange icing is on every kiddo’s face, and the plates have been cleared away.
“Present time!” my mom announces. She walks over to us, holding her phone up to take photos. Ken and Max are still on the other side of the room, talking with Jean and Dan.
This might be the best birthday party I’ve ever thrown for Alex.
I purposefully save my present for last. When all of the other gifts have been opened, I drag a huge box out of my bedroom, wrapped in Star Wars wrapping paper.
“Holy cow, Mom,” Alex says, his eyes wide. “It’s huge!”
“Do you need help opening it?”
“Heck, no,” he says. My eyes find Max’s, and we share a smile. Alex tears into the paper, opens the box, and frowns. “A dog bed?”
“What else?”
I peer into the box with him as he pulls out more dog supplies.
“A leash. Some dog toys and treats.”
“I wonder if this present came to the wrong house?” I ask, frowning in mock confusion.
“Mom.” Alex takes my cheeks in his little hands and looks me dead in the eyes. “Don’t play with my emotions.”
“I wouldn’t do that.”
“Does this mean I get a dog?”
I can tell he’s holding his breath, waiting for me to answer.
“We go pick him up later today,” I confirm. Suddenly, my nine-year-old has launched into my arms, holding on tightly. He doesn’t even care that all of his friends are watching.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” he says, squirming while hugging me fiercely. “This is the best birthday ever.”
“You’re welcome.” I kiss his cheek. “I love you, Bubba.”
“I love you too, Mom. Guys! I get a puppy! What should I name him?”
The boys start throwing out names like Rocky and George, and I start to clear the mess off the table.
“You guys have one more hour to finish your forts,” I inform them, and they scramble back to the garage to put on their gear and get back out to play.
“Well, that went perfectly,” Jean says when I get on the phone with her. “He’s so excited.”
“I am, too, honestly,” I reply. “I always had a dog growing up. It’ll be good for him.”
“Thanks for letting us join you,” Dan says and blows me a kiss. “Enjoy the rest of your day.”