Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 106173 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 531(@200wpm)___ 425(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106173 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 531(@200wpm)___ 425(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
It was the last time I used an online dating app.
I nod to Hattie’s computer screen. “What are you working on?”
“An essay for one of my classes. It’s on the dry side, but if you don’t mind looking it over later and giving it the red pen treatment, I would be super grateful. This professor is a stickler for grammar and annotations, so I want to make sure it’s in good shape.”
“I can absolutely have a look. Just tell me when you’re ready, and I’ll get out my trusty red pen for you.”
“Is Mom watching TV?” Hattie’s expression shifts, and for a moment she looks sad.
“Yup. I’m going to shower and then join her, but I can work on your essay while she and I hang out.”
“I don’t know how you can handle watching the same shows all the time.”
I push up off the bed. “It’s background noise.”
She sighs. “I guess, but you’d think at some point she’d want some variety. I feel like we’re all kind of stuck in this loop on repeat.”
I squeeze Hattie’s shoulder, aware that we feel differently about this. I make a joke to defuse her sadness. “Maybe when Blu-ray players are obsolete.”
She rolls her eyes. “I can just see her scouring eBay for all the old ones and hoarding them.”
“I’m cat sitting for a semi-hoarder now.” I change the subject because this conversation about our mom always makes me uneasy.
“What do you mean semi-hoarder? I didn’t realize there was an in-between.”
“It’s more . . . a lot of clutter. Or collections of things. You know those porcelain dolls Grandma Hart used to collect?”
Hattie makes a face and shudders. “The dresser in the spare room was always full of them. It felt like they were watching me sleep.”
“You always ended up in bed with me when we had to stay there.” I smile fondly at the memory.
“And you made us sleep foot to head.” Her tone is laced with accusation.
“So you wouldn’t breathe in my face. It was a twin bed. There wasn’t much room, and you move around a lot. A foot in the face is better than you breathing directly up my nose.” Hattie is also a cuddler, so she was always basically pressed against me.
“Whatever. So, more about this semi-hoarder.” She makes a go-on motion.
“The house is full of knickknacks, and the cat likes to knock them on the floor. It makes the clutter that much more cluttery.”
“So kind of like the inside of your purse?” Hattie arches a brow.
Considering the number of pens and lip balms that ended up on Miles’s mom’s driveway, it’s hard to argue, but I defend myself anyway. “Worse than my purse by a long shot.”
She narrows one eye at me. “You’re blushing. Why? What happened?”
“Nothing.” I bite my lips together.
“Something happened. Was it the new cat and their human?” Her eyes light up. “Is the human a guy? A cute guy?”
“It doesn’t matter if he’s cute. He’s a jerk, and our introduction was the kind of embarrassment you don’t really recover from.” Especially when my tripping was followed by him insulting his mother’s cat and tackling me to the floor.
“Embarrassing how?” She grabs my hand and pushes me back toward the bed. “You need to spill it. Your face tells me there’s a story.”
I blow out a breath, aware she’ll barricade me in her room until I spill the beans. “Remember your first day of high school, when I tripped up the steps in front of the entire football team between first and second period?”
Hattie’s eyes go wide and her cheeks tint with secondhand embarrassment. As it is, the memory makes me want to crawl under a blanket forever. “Please tell me this cat’s human wasn’t one of those football players.”
I hug Pumpkin to my chest. “No. Thank catness.” I never lived down that moment. Not for the rest of my high school career. Every time I saw one of those guys in the hall, my face would burst into flames. Thankfully, my long hair was able to act as a shield and a veil, but it didn’t stop me from hearing their snickers and little jabs. “But I did trip over the curb and fall flat on my face.”
“Oh no. I’m so sorry. Did it get better after that? Was he at least nice about it? Did he help you up?”
“Eventually. Sort of. But then he ruined it all by being a dog person.” I purse my lips; his disdain for Prince Francis is grating on me. “And then he tackled me, so the whole helping me up was kind of wiped out by that.”
“Why in the world would he tackle you?”
I give her the abridged version. “You see what I mean, though? He’s definitely not a cat person. You know how different dogs are than cats. Dogs want your approval; cats want your submission.”