Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 97592 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97592 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
“Uh-huh.” I nod just as the elevator doors slide open, but in typical five-year-old-boy fashion, Grant sprints into the hallway like a madman. “Grant! Slow down, buddy!”
He barely slows his steps. “What room, Mom?”
“It’s 406,” I answer just as my phone pings against my hip. “And wait for me outside the door.”
“Okay, Mom!”
I pull the phone out of my purse, half expecting it to be Brooke asking what time we’re meeting for lunch today, but I’m surprised when it’s someone else entirely.
Gavin: Hey, babe. I hope you’re having a good day. Let me know how Grant’s appointment goes today.
The subway ride from Grant’s kindergarten to Midtown is blissfully calm, and I’m happy to be making record time as I finish up the short one-block walk to the restaurant where I’m meeting Brooke for lunch.
As I illegally cross the empty street like all of my fellow New Yorkers, my phone chimes several times in my purse, and I pull it out to find a few missed messages.
Quickly, I scan my inbox.
The first one is from Zoe, letting me know she can handle Grant for a few hours today so I can attend one of Seth’s counseling sessions with Ms. Sandy Rose after school.
And the other two are from, well…Noah and Gavin. Evidently, I’m the new female version of Kody Brown à la Sister Wives.
Noah: I think that’s a good and realistic plan of care for Grant. There are two pediatric physical therapists that I’d highly recommend. Let me put in some calls and see who is available and can best accommodate your already busy schedule.
Gavin: Sounds like his appointment went well. I have a business dinner at La Croisette on Thursday. Hope you can make some time to stop by and say hello.
In my defense, both of them asked me to update them on Grant’s appointment, and I’ve already told Gavin I’m not interested in getting serious with anyone. And it’s not like Noah and I are involved in a romantic sense. We’re just friends.
Friends who sometimes almost kiss…
Honestly, I’m starting to wonder if that’s even what was really happening. Annoyed at myself, I shove my phone back into my purse before I reach out to push through the door of the restaurant.
It doesn’t take long for me to spot Brooke and Benji, and I don’t waste any time, bypassing the hostess with a friendly smile and heading their way.
“Am I actually on time to something?” I ask on a laugh as I plop down into the booth seat across from my sister. Benji is in his normal spot on the floor—underneath our table with only his head peeking out—and I carefully avoid smacking him in the face with my shoes as I adjust in my spot.
After Grant’s appointment with Dr. Howard, I dropped him off at afternoon kindergarten and made a mad dash to Midtown to meet Brooke for lunch at one of our favorite lunch spots—Carnegie Diner & Café.
“Technically, you’re two minutes late,” she updates with a tongue-in-cheek smile. “But I’ll count it as on time, given how messed up your life is right now.”
“I appreciate that.” I grab the menu and start to peruse the options, and that action spurs a laugh from Brooke.
“Oh, get real, Sammy. You and I both know you’re going to order the same thing you always get.”
She’s not wrong. Every time I come here, I end up ordering their BLT chicken sandwich.
“What if today is the one day I decide to live life in the fast lane and order something new?”
Her reaction is an unladylike snort. “Stick with the chicken sandwich, sis. You have enough on your plate with that love triangle you’re smack-dab in the middle of.”
I purposely ignore her comment and keep my attention on the menu in my hands until our server stops by our booth. Her name tag reads Susan, and her expression is expectant as she asks, “Are you ready to order?”
She punctuates that statement by tapping her right foot in a rhythmic pattern against the tile floor.
Brooke doesn’t waste any time ordering—cheeseburger and fries and a chocolate shake—and I give in to my need to keep things simple and go with my usual chicken sandwich and iced tea.
But the moment Susan takes our menus and heads off to put in our order, my sister places both of her elbows on the table and focuses all her attention on me.
“What?”
She searches my eyes, purses her lips, but, eventually, lets out a sigh and asks, “How did Grant’s appointment go?”
“It went well,” I answer, relieved by the unexpected direction of this conversation. “It’s safe to say he’s going to be in a cast for a while and will be doing physical therapy for the next several months, but Dr. Howard is happy with his progress.”
“Dr. Howard?” she questions with a furrowed brow. “I thought you said his doctor’s name was Dr. Williams?”