Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 113617 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 568(@200wpm)___ 454(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113617 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 568(@200wpm)___ 454(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
“I have three,” I announced.
He looked bemused, which was a far safer look than the one he’d been wearing the instant before.
“Three what?”
“Kids,” I stated.
Again, he was opening his mouth.
But I kept speaking.
“There’s Chloe, my oldest. She’s a stylish, perfectly accessorized, never-ending trail of lit rocket fuel.”
Something else moved over his face, I couldn’t read it, but it didn’t matter.
Yes, again, I kept talking.
“Then there’s Matt. He came barely a year after Chloe. We…we…we…” I nearly pounded a fist on my chest in order to get out words that would indicate what any adult knew, children were the products of having sex, but somehow alluding to Duncan I’d had sex with another man, even if that man had been my husband for twenty-four years, had me regressing to a fourteen-year-old, “got pregnant again fast. He’s in his second year of med school. At USC. We’re very proud of him.”
“Genny,” Duncan whispered.
“Then there’s Sasha. Our baby. We took a break after Matt. You have children so you know, they’re a lot of work. Two babies that close together, I couldn’t quit working, but I was very hands-on with my kids, so I was a walking zombie. This means Sasha is three years younger than Matt. She, like Chloe, elected not to go to college, and instead, is a ‘student of the planet.’ Her words. And I kinda wished this meant she was a sci-fi geek, chasing around the country, looking for UFOs. Which likely gives indication that I try not to be judgy, but I think it’s been over a year since I’ve seen her when she didn’t have fresh flowers woven into her hair and I’m not sure she owns a pair of shoes. Though, she does have a cell phone. And needless to say, I have concerns about all of that. Because she can use her cell for GPS, but she has no direction.”
“Gen, I need you to listen to me.”
No.
No no no no no.
He sounded serious.
Too serious.
I knew he didn’t want to talk about closure.
He wanted to talk about the opposite.
But to get there, we had to talk about something else.
And I didn’t want to talk about Corey. What Corey did to us. Who Corey really was and how vile that person turned out to be.
I didn’t want to be reminded I put my faith in him, and years of life into our friendship, and he’d taken this magnificent man who was sitting beside me, who had a dream and worked hard to realize it, away from me.
I did not get to live his dream with him.
And he did not get to live my dream with me.
Because of Corey.
And maybe all of that would have turned into a disaster.
But it would have been our disaster.
Not Corey’s.
So I didn’t even want to think about Corey.
I wanted to talk about our kids and his acreage and his little dog called Killer.
“They’re twenty-four, twenty-three and twenty, respectively,” I blurted.
“Gen—”
“And I think—”
I cut myself off because my phone was ringing.
“A second,” I said quietly, pulling it out of my back pocket, and seeing it was Matt.
My son never called.
Texts and emails and person to person, even if that person to person was over Skype.
That was Matt.
I didn’t even know the last time I spoke with him on the phone, to such an extent, I was wondering if I’d ever actually spoken to him on the phone.
“I need to take this. It’s my son,” I told Duncan.
“Absolutely,” Duncan replied.
I engaged, put the phone to my ear and asked, “Are you okay?”
“Right, Mom, don’t speak and listen to me.”
My eyes flew to Duncan and I knew the fear was there because our hips were touching, but then they became tight, the side of my thigh pressed to his, all because he’d wrapped his hand around the back of my neck and pulled me close.
“Matt—” I began.
“Listen, okay?”
“Okay, darling.” My voice was wavering.
Duncan’s fingers squeezed reassuringly.
“Now, I know you just lost him, but I can’t sit on this anymore. Not with you getting your picture taken with one of his friends. And I know you’re not going to like hearing this, but it’s the truth. Dad felt the same way. And I think the girls did too, they just never said. But there was something not right about Uncle Corey. And I’m not real thrilled you’re hanging out with one of his friends.”
I fell forward, dropping my forehead to the tiny table, miraculously missing my glass.
And the chicharrones.
Duncan’s hand didn’t move through this, but his head did, and he whispered urgently in my unoccupied ear, “Baby, hey, hey, hey.”
I sat up just as abruptly, did the Phew! gesture of fake swipe of forehead, and returned my attention to my son.
My protective son.
Who, even though his father was not entirely out of my life, had cast himself in the role of my protector because that was who his father taught him to be.