Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 55196 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 276(@200wpm)___ 221(@250wpm)___ 184(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55196 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 276(@200wpm)___ 221(@250wpm)___ 184(@300wpm)
Suddenly, the reverie was broken.
“Bethy!”
I looked up, squinting, and surveyed the crowd. Nope, didn’t see them. But then across the street at the red light, a skinny guy waved. A woman who was just as skinny waved to me too. She smiled big and friendly, like we were buddies. Finally, they were here.
Tentatively, I waved back. George was here. He was actually here, and with his new wife too. When the traffic light for pedestrians changed, he grabbed Lynne’s hand and marched across the street, a big smile on his narrow, bearded face. He looked like an elderly rocker with colorful tattoos down both arms and silver rings on most fingers.
Oh my god. My dad was embarrassing, but at least this was the East Village, known for its boho charm. At least George didn’t stand out, people are used to anything down here.
“Hey, girlie!” Of course, he didn’t come into the restaurant the regular way. Instead, he jumped the short iron fence and Lynne quickly followed. They both looked like kids, teenagers almost, instead of people in their fifties. It’s really weird how some folks never grow up.
But finally, Dad stood in front of me, grinning like hell.
“This place is nice, right?” He smelled like incense and patchouli. “The Figaro is nice.”
Lynne smiled too and gave me a hug. She smelled just like my dad, with a handful of cinnamon and cardamom thrown in.
So strange. I looked from one to the other, barely able to believe my eyes. Usually, George and Lynne are traipsing through India, following the spirit of the Ganges, or at least living in a yurt in the New Mexico desert doing all sorts of chants with their guru.
But I guess the spiritual stuff works because my parents looked great, really healthy and refreshed, years younger than their biological ages.
“You look shocked,” said my dad with a grin.
“I am... I don’t…um…,” I stammered at him. What to say to a guy who took off to “find himself”? It’s one thing when you’re an adolescent to take a gap year before college. But George was into his fifth decade, and he’d been wandering the globe for years now.
So I just smiled weakly.
“Welcome back stateside, Dad.”
“Ha!” he barked a laugh. “With the way things are lately? Maybe we should have stayed in Guayabara, don’t you think Lynne? This country is going to the pits. Absolutely going down the toilet.”
I cringed. Because yes, this is the boho part of town, but still, I didn’t want my dad busting out with some long diatribe on the state of American politics, or worse, the wars overseas. Oh god, no. Please no, not now. So I spoke quickly.
“Dad, all I meant was welcome back. That’s all,” came my firm voice. “Wanna order lunch?”
And Lynne leaned over, giving his hand a squeeze.
“George, let’s get some sandwiches. That’ll be good, right?” She turned to me. “After six months of eating rice and beans, I’m looking forward to avocado toast. I hear it’s the latest craze. Green stuff from the earth filled with nutrients and good vibes, yum!”
I smiled again. Even more than the zany talk about avocados was Lynne’s adept way at diverting George’s attention. Because I could tell that she too, didn’t want some loud outburst on politics right here in the café.
So I nodded in agreement, grateful. Lynne is Lynne, and she was practically part of the scenery now. Although what exactly happened still isn’t clear, I think the blonde was part of the reason George decided to wander. But I’m not putting that on her. My father made his bed and he can sleep in it, he’s a grown man.
But she proceeded with a firm squeeze to my dad’s hand. He actually looked embarrassed for once.
“Sweetheart,” he began, still looking at the older lady.
I gazed between the two of them. What was going on? Was this some kind of weird husband/wife telepathy thing?
“Come on, honey,” my dad began, embarrassed.
“Come on nothing,” Lynne admonished sternly, squeezing his hand again. “You know why we’re here.”
I stared at them. This was beyond strange. “Why are you guys here?” I asked hesitantly. “What’s going on?”
Of course, I wasn’t so silly as to think they were here to see me. But at that moment, the waiter came back, notepad out.
“What can I get for you folks today? Drinks? Appetizers?”
“Uh....” George looked at the menu for about five seconds, and then ordered some random stuff for him and Lynne. Actually, it wasn’t random at all. It was a mish-mash of all the healthiest things, from the prune sandwich to the arugula panini. After he finished, George turned my way.
“Order whatever you want, Bethy. This lunch is on me,” he proclaimed with a grandiose wave of his hand.
“Um, okay,” I murmured, staring at the menu. Because in truth, the Figaro was really expensive. I’d lost my job at Carlton Corp., or more accurately, never shown up again. And without the gig, it was back to eating ramen by candlelight, scrimping here and there, saving quarters for the laundromat. There were a couple times I’d babysat in the last month, but otherwise, my savings were disappearing.