Total pages in book: 142
Estimated words: 138526 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 693(@200wpm)___ 554(@250wpm)___ 462(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138526 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 693(@200wpm)___ 554(@250wpm)___ 462(@300wpm)
“Okay,” I say handing Maria her drink back as her father holds her tight and her eyes round with sorrow. “I will see you on Tuesday for soccer practice.”
“You’re going?” she asks, looking torn between her father and me.
“It’s your daddy’s turn and I’ve got a ton of things to do.”
“Like what?” she asks sadly.
Mr. C adds, “Yes, like what?”
Oh, if his tone doesn’t just rub salt into the wound he made. Gah.
I glare at him. “Like looking for a new job.”
“Okay, I deserve that,” he tells me, putting his daughter down and smiling. “Don’t look for a new job. We have a great thing going.”
“You have a great thing going. Not me. I’m starting to hate my job,” I admit, surprised at my own candor. “I’m starting to hate you. Which sucks because I used to really like you but you’re so grouchy and nothing is good enough for you these days.”
“You sound like my wife,” he mutters, and we walk, letting Maria guide us to the next exhibit.
Butterflies. I love this one.
“Speaking of your wife, tell her to stop screaming at me whenever you do something wrong. It’s getting tiring. I’m not an extension of you. I don’t mind listening to her vent or whatever but it’s like she blames me when you do things.”
“I didn’t realize she had been,” he grumbles, rubbing his face with both hands. “I apologize, we’ve all been under a lot of pressure lately and this is not how I want my family represented. I’ll have a word with Elizabeth.”
“You’re still going to take me to soccer though, right?” Maria asks.
I nod, tugging playfully on her braid. “Every Tuesday.”
“And then ice cream and pizza?”
“Duh, it’s my favorite day of the week.” I’m not even lying either. I love hanging out with Maria, she’s a sweet kid. Ice cream and pizza is an added bonus.
“My wife has you taking Maria to soccer practice?” Mr. Conti seethes.
“And piano recital, and she came to the school bake sale two weeks ago.”
“Your wife is busy,” I reply softly, defending a woman who has always been vile to me.
“Doing what? She’s a kept woman with one child and paid fucking maids to tend the house.” He rips a hand through his dark hair and looks up at the clear sky.
I place my hand on his arm. “I don’t mind, I don’t want to cause issues between you and your wife. I don’t mind doing things if I have the time.”
He sighs and looks at Maria. “What was the last thing you and Mommy did together?”
“Don’t ask her that,” I hiss at him, my jaw dropping.
Maria looks frightened, scared of saying the wrong thing. She pulls on my hand and points to the butterfly exhibit.
“Let’s go,” I whisper, nodding for Mr. C to follow.
He does so begrudgingly but I can see him becoming increasingly agitated.
As soon as we’re through the flaps of the dome-shaped greenhouse, butterflies swarm us, making Maria squeal with glee. We follow her around for a while. Mr. C has his phone in his hand the entire time.
I shouldn’t say anything, it’s not my place.
“Please get off your phone.” I stop him, keeping one eye on Maria as she chases a big purple butterfly.
His lips pinch together.
“I know you’re mad or whatever, but Maria is——”
“How many kids do you have?” he barks at me.
“None.”
“Then stay in your lane,” he snaps, and my mouth clamps shut.
“Look, Daddy!” Maria cries, and we stop glaring at each other to look her way. There’s a huge blue and black butterfly on her head and the way she’s standing, arms out and bent, legs the same, so she doesn’t startle it into flying away, has us both smiling. “It likes me! Can we keep it?”
“You’d want to take it away from its beautiful home because it gave you a hug?” I ask just as a butterfly lands on the top of my glasses and flutters its wings. I look up at it and then at Mr. Conti who is watching me intently. “Sorry, not my lane.”
He laughs and I’m surprised when he hooks me around the shoulders and hugs me into his side. This is positively awkward. “Come on, grumpy, let’s get something to eat before you spontaneously combust and set all the butterflies on fire.”
“It’s laughable that you think I’m the grumpy one,” I grumble, escaping his warm, strong arm.
I snap off a flower from the exhibit and use it to coax the butterfly from my glasses. We exit moments later, looking for the café so we can get some well-earned food.
I find us a table as Mr. C gets the drinks and snacks, and Maria races over to a nearby play area to swing from monkey bars upside down.
I watch her with a smile on my face, she is such a nice kid. Never any bother.