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)
“I’m a pony, Mommy!” Ripley shouts from her perch atop Max’s shoulders. She’s pointing to her face paint with pride and excitement.
“I can see that, my love,” I say. “You look mahvelous, dahling.”
Ripley and the Walters laugh at my reply.
“I’m not a real pony, doe,” Ripley assures me. “Don’t worry.”
“Oh, phew. That’s a relief.”
Everyone laughs again.
“Are you sure about that, Ripley?” Mrs. Walters teases gently. “You look like a real pony to me.”
“No, it’s paint. See?” Ripley opens her eyes wide, like that’s somehow going to prove her identity to Mrs. Walters, and the kind woman gamely peers into my daughter’s wide eyes and says, “Oh, yes. I see it now: you’re definitely a little girl wearing a fabulous disguise.”
It’s an adorable exchange. One that makes me instantly like Mrs. Walters—and by extension, her husband, since it’s my experience only lovely men have lovely wives. Well, Alexander excluded. How that man ever landed Gigi, God only knows.
I’m thinking this conversation with the Walters will likely turn to questions about Max and me and our recent engagement—a topic I don’t want to discuss in front of Ripley—so I ask Max to let Ripley down, which he does. I prompt Ripley to thank the Walters for allowing us to enjoy their beautiful slice of heaven and then suggest she find Grampy and Gigi and show them her face paint.
Ripley expresses excitement at the idea, since I rarely let her run off anywhere alone. After she dutifully thanks the Walters, I point out the spot where Dad and Gigi are still playing horseshoes across the massive lawn and then watch with eagle eyes as she bounds to her destination and immediately gets smothered with double bear-hugs and kisses.
“She’s adorable,” Mrs. Walters says, her eyes trained on Ripley across the lawn. “Which of your parents are they?”
Shit. Max and I didn’t discuss how to handle this question.
“Actually, they’re both our parents,” Max says. “My mother and Marnie’s father.” He chuckles. “It might sound a bit strange at first blush, but our parents were both single when Marnie and I met. We started having family dinners to get everyone together, and the next thing we knew, those two were inseparable.”
“Oh my goodness,” Mrs. Walters says. “How romantic!”
I sigh with relief. “We were definitely surprised,” I say. “Not to mention, a little bit worried about people thinking that’s weird. You know, for our parents to get together. But it’s turned out to be an incredible blessing.”
“I’m sure it’s made it awfully easy to blend your families,” Mrs. Walters says. She waves at the air. “Don’t listen to naysayers. You’re all unrelated adults. I think it’s fabulous you’ve all found love. That’s the whole point of life, isn’t it? Giving and receiving love.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Walters. That’s a lovely way to put it.”
“Call me Jenny, please. And he’s Wayne.” She smiles at her husband. “When I met Wayne twenty years ago, I was a young widow with three small children, and everyone said I fell in love with him too soon. But you know what? Their opinions didn’t matter. I knew what I felt. I knew it was right for me. And I knew my first husband would have been nothing but happy for the kids and me to have found a man as wonderful as Wayne to love us all.”
Wayne seems like a man of few words. But he’s certainly nodding along with his wife’s comments. Adorably, when his wife finishes talking, Wayne takes her hand and kisses the top of it, letting us all know he’s elated she didn’t listen to naysayers, but, instead, followed her heart.
“How did you come to be a single mother, Marnie?” Mrs. Walters asks. “Are you a widow like me?”
If she’d asked me this question right away, I’d have felt defensive. Worried my answer might somehow cast me in a bad light and hurt Max’s chances to impress this family-oriented couple. But now that she’s already established herself as a non-judgmental and kind person, I don’t mind the question at all.
“No, I’ve never been married,” I say. “I’m a private chef. Five years ago, I was working a job in Prague and enjoying everything the city had to offer during my time off, including dating a local guy. One day, I didn’t feel right, so I took a pregnancy test and got the shock of my life.” Yeah, I’ve fudged my story a bit. I wasn’t dating Ripley’s sperm donor; we’d had a simple one-night stand. But I don’t think that detail is anyone’s business.
Both Mr. and Mrs. Walters express empathy for my shocking discovery, but not judgment, so I forge ahead. “I was terrified to go it alone. But even more than that, I was excited. The minute I saw that plus symbol on the test, I felt like it was meant to be. I went back home to Seattle to have the baby and raise her with the help of my parents. And that’s what I’ve done, except that my mother sadly passed of cancer right before Ripley’s second birthday.” When Mr. and Mrs. Walters express their condolences, I thank them and add, “I’m grateful my mother was able to be there for Ripley’s birth and to get to know her granddaughter for as long as she did. Also, my father and I have become really close since her passing. My father and Ripley, too. So, that’s a silver lining.” I look at Max. “I wasn’t even looking to date anyone when I met Max. I was too busy with Ripley and work. But I fell head over heels for him, against my will, basically.”