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)
Ripley dutifully hands them over, and I get to work cleaning them on my shirt. As I’m working, I glance at Marnie again, and the look on her face sends heat skating across my skin. Marnie’s not smiling at me this time. She’s smoldering. Flashing me a sultry look that practically screams, “I want you to fuck me.”
My cock begins tingling, which is the last thing I need happening while I’m seated next to a tiny human and across from my mother.
I take a deep breath and command my dick to read the room and pipe down.
“Here you go,” I say, handing the glasses back to their owner. “Behold the world in all its glory.”
Ripley slides her glasses back on and giggles. “Oh. Dat’s better.”
“Say thank you to Max,” Marnie prompts. “That was very nice of him.”
“Tank you.”
“You’re very welcome. Enjoy.”
Soft music has been playing throughout our meal. A random playlist from a streaming platform. In this moment, a new song begins and Mom gushes, “Oh, I love this one. It’s my current favorite.”
Henry says he’s never heard it and asks my mother about it, so Mom launches into explaining how she first discovered this particular artist after watching an episode of Grey’s Anatomy that featured the song. Marnie pipes in to say she’s obsessed with Grey’s Anatomy, and the two women launch into a lively discussion about the show.
And . . . she’s back. In the midst of the adult conversation gaining traction at the table, Ripley places her little hand on my forearm and says, “What’s your favorite song, Maxy-Milly?”
“I’d have to think about that. What’s yours?”
Ripley throws up her little hands in exasperation. “I told you. ‘Da Itsy-Bitsy Spider.’ That’s why we were dressed like purpole spiders for da dance.”
Again, I can’t help laughing, despite myself. “Such a temper. I guess your hair isn’t the only thing you inherited from your mother.”
Marnie’s head swivels toward me on a dime. “What was that?”
“She already told me her favorite song, apparently, but I didn’t catch it amidst the many other bits of information she’s told me. Apparently, she’s frustrated with me for my lack of information retention.”
“And rightly so,” my mother says. “When a woman speaks, listen carefully, Maximillian.”
Everyone laughs, even Marnie.
“I swear I’m trying, Mom,” I say.
“She’s being particularly chatty with you,” Marnie says apologetically. She mouths over her kid’s head, “Sorry.”
“No, no,” I say. “She’s a great conversationalist. Better than most lawyers I know.”
Everyone chuckles again, even Ripley—who, once again, couldn’t possibly have a clue what’s funny.
“So, what’s da answer?” the kid says.
“To what?”
“Your favorite song!”
“Oh. That.” I pause to consider, and when the perfect answer pops into my head, I look at Marnie over the kid’s hair and say, “‘Barracuda.’”
Marnie’s mouth twitches slightly, letting me know my message has been received, but it’s her only visible reaction to my dig. My mother, on the other hand, who has no idea I’ve chosen the song to send a message to Marnie, sings out, “I didn’t know you like Heart. I love them.”
I address my mother. “I remember, as a kid, watching you singing along at full volume to one of their songs. It wasn’t ‘Barracuda,’ but I can’t remember which one.”
“‘Dog and Butterfly.’”
“That’s right.”
“That’s one of my all-time favorites. I don’t know why, but it always makes me want to cry.”
“Me, too,” Marnie says. “I don’t even know what the song is about, but it hits me right here, for some reason.” She places her hand on her heart.
When Mom agrees, Marnie pops up to find the song on the streaming platform, and we all listen to it together and talk about what we think it means and how amazing the lead singer’s vocals are.
When the song is over, Ripley says, “Can we listen to barbequood now?”
Every adult at the table dies of laughter, including me. Fuck my life, the kid’s a cutie. There’s no denying it. As far as kids go, anyway.
Marnie turns on the song and then shows Ripley how to bang her head and put up her hands like she’s at a rock concert. When Ripley gets it, the entire table rocks out to the song with her. Not surprisingly, when it’s over, Ripley shouts, “Anudder one!”
Marnie shakes her head. “I’m glad you’re having fun, but it’s already past your bedtime, peanut. You’ve got school tomorrow.”
“One more?”
“Nope. Say goodnight to everyone.”
Ripley looks at me. “Will you read to me tonight?”
“No, peanut,” Marnie says. “Let’s let Max relax now and have some adult conversation with his mommy and Grampy.”
Ripley gasps. “Gigi is Maxy’s mommy?”
We all look at each other, grinning. I don’t know how that fact has escaped Ripley before now, but, clearly, it’s a revelation to her.
“Yes, Gigi is Max’s mommy,” Marnie says. “And Auggie’s, too. Remember Auggie from the gallery? Max and Auggie are brothers.”