Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 111732 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 559(@200wpm)___ 447(@250wpm)___ 372(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111732 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 559(@200wpm)___ 447(@250wpm)___ 372(@300wpm)
“Let’s get a group shot,” Gigi says. “I want to commemorate all of us coming together for the first time.” She asks a passerby to snap one of our whole group, and everyone huddles up for the photo.
As our photographer frames the shot, Max slides his arm around my shoulders and leans into my ear. “Actually, for the two of us, this isn’t the first time we’re coming together, is it?”
I snort-laugh, despite myself, which makes Max crack up, too.
“I have a feeling your mother’s figured that out,” I whisper back. “Much to my embarrassment and horror.”
He scoffs. “She once screwed her personal trainer in Cabo. I think she can handle the shocking truth that her adult son isn’t a virgin.”
“Stop. Please. Let’s pretend it never happened, okay?”
“Oh, but it did. And then again, mere minutes ago.”
“Ssh. Our parents are dating. We could become step-siblings one day.”
Max snorts. “Are you trying to turn me on?”
“Ew, Max.”
He laughs.
Our photographer says, “Would someone pick up the little girl? The framing with the painting will be better that way.”
I pick up Ripley, and she instantly leans her cheek onto Max’s broad shoulder like she’s been doing it all her life.
“Aw, that’s so sweet,” the woman says. “Hug your mommy and daddy, honey. That’s so cute.”
“I don’t have a daddy!” Ripley calls out. “Only a mommy and a Grampy.”
The photographer looks mortified. “Oh. Okay. That’s great.” Blushing, the woman hands the phone back to Gigi and mumbles to me, “Sorry. I didn’t realize.” And off she goes, as fast as her embarrassed legs will carry her.
When the photo shoot is over, I put Ripley down and she immediately takes Max’s hand. “Come on, Maxy-Milly. Let’s—"
“No, honey,” I say, cutting her off at the pass. “Let’s give Max some space now, okay? Hold my hand. Talk to me.”
“But I want to hold Maxy’s hand and talk to him.”
When I look at Gigi for help, she looks every bit as uncomfortable and tongue-tied as I feel.
“Is everyone hungry?” Gigi finally asks.
“I am,” Dad says cheerfully. “How about we all go back to my place and celebrate Gigi’s world premiere as an artist together?”
“Sorry, I have to run,” Auggie says. “Thanks for the invitation, Henry, but I’ve got a big test tomorrow. I wanted to come by to show Mom my support and meet all of you, but I really have to study.”
“Auggie’s in the veterinary program at the University of Washington,” Gigi explains proudly. “He’s working so hard.” She smiles at Max. “Both my boys are extremely hard workers.”
“What about you, Max?” Dad says. “Can you join us for dinner?”
To my shock, Max smiles at Dad and says, “Yeah, dinner sounds good. Thanks. I’ve got work to do, but I’ve got to eat, right?”
“Fabulous,” Gigi says, sounding absolutely thrilled. “I’m so glad you can make it.”
“I’ll go into the office extra early tomorrow morning to make up for lost time,” Max says to his mother.
“Thank you so much, honey,” Gigi says. “This means the world to me.”
Max smiles at me while speaking to his mother. “Happy to do it, Mom.”
Ripley pulls on Max’s arm, ultimately yanking him down to her face. When his ear is near her little mouth, she whispers something that causes Max to exhale and reply, “If I must.”
“You must,” Ripley deadpans. When she looks at me, my daughter flashes me a mega-watt smile and says, “Maxy is gonna sit next to me at dinner!”
11
MAX
Why has this little squeak of a sprite imprinted on me of all people—the least kid-friendly person at this dinner table?
We’re back at Henry’s house now. In the midst of dining on Greek takeout in celebration of my mother’s first art show. And of course, I’m sitting next to Marnie’s kid because she’s been stuck to me like glue since I walked into the gallery. The only question is why?
I’ve got nothing against the kid. She’s all right, as far as little kids go. In fact, she’s kind of cute behind those thick glasses. Also, her silly little giggle is kind of infectious. But man, can this girl talk. In fact, she’s a downright chatterbox. Which would be fine, I suppose, if every third sentence weren’t a question requiring an active response from me. And not a one-word answer, either. If I try to get away with a “yes” or “no” or “cool,” she bats her eyelashes and says, “Tell me more.” Not sure where she learned that, but she says it like she’s a forty-year-old therapist. Which, again, would be cute if I were watching her doing it to someone else.
Speaking of someone else, why isn’t she giving my mother the time of day? Mom obviously worships the ground this kid walks on. Over and over again throughout this meal, Mom has tried to inject herself into the conversation the kid has been having with me, but, nope, my new stalker only has eyes for me.