Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 75570 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75570 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
My head immediately starts to buzz at the mention of Jimmy. These days, it only takes his name to immediately transport me to the Syrian desert, seeing him lying dead on the hard-packed earth.
I take a sip of water, hoping it dispels the lump in my throat, then make myself ask, “What can’t you tell her?”
Anna’s eyebrows draw inward as she considers my question. “I can’t tell her that I don’t need her. I mean… not the way she wants me to. Like she doesn’t understand why I wouldn’t move back home after Jimmy died—why I got my own apartment instead. She doesn’t even understand what a strong, independent woman she raised. How when my stepdad came into the picture, I was forced to start fending for myself somewhat, so I learned how to take care of myself. And now, I just want to show Jimmy I can do this because he always knew I could take care of myself. It was one of the things he loved best about me, and I certainly can’t tell her that she helped make me this way, because it would kill her to know that. At the same time, I feel guilty as hell I just can’t let her be a mother to me now in all the ways she wants to be. She’s operating on instinct, knowing I’ve been in pain and wanting to soothe it, but I have to get through it my own way, you know?”
My eyes continually get bigger the more she continues to vomit her feelings out.
Anna is equally wide-eyed, appearing completely stunned she just unloaded like that.
But then she giggles—just a tiny chirp of a sound. Her hand claps over her mouth, eyes growing even bigger at her own temerity.
I snicker. “Wow… that was quite the mouthful.”
“I’m so sorry,” she says while laughing and not looking remorseful at all. “I guess I have some repressed feelings where my mom is concerned, huh?”
Shrugging, I consider getting a second plate of food, but I figure I should give my stomach a rest. I put my fork down, gesturing pointedly at Anna. “I don’t mind you unloading on me.”
“Same goes for you,” she replies softly. “I mean… I know you don’t know me all that well—and you have your own family and friends—but last I checked, I have two sympathetic ears.”
I nod, not able to voice how much I appreciate the sentiment. Because while I’m grateful for her offer, I don’t think I could ever talk to her about what happened in Syria.
How could I tell her that it’s my fault her husband is dead? That, because of me, Avery doesn’t have a father?
And it would come out. I know the minute I opened myself up to Anna’s empathy, I’d spill my guts to her the way she just did to me, and I’m not ready to see the hate or disappointment in her eyes just yet.
CHAPTER 10
Anna
Setting my Kindle on the table, I get off the couch and head into my kitchen. I have a craving for chocolate milk—something that started in the second trimester of my pregnancy and never went away even after I gave birth.
Maybe a chocolate chip cookie wouldn’t be bad either. In my opinion, a person can never have too much chocolate.
I step into the kitchen. Before I can even turn on the light, though, I’m cursing as my socks instantly get soaked by water.
I slap at the wall switch. When the light clicks on, I gape at the good inch of water that covers my entire linoleum floor. Suspecting the dishwasher as the culprit since I had just started it about half an hour ago, I snap my gaze that way, dismayed to see a steady rush of water coming out of the bottom and spilling onto the floor.
“Goddamn it,” I exclaim as I rush toward the dishwasher, my thick socks now weighed down by the water that has soaked into them.
I snatch the door open to halt the cycle. For some reason, though, that doesn’t stop the flow of water. I have officially exhausted my entire knowledge of how water moves through a machine.
“Shit, shit, shit,” I mutter as I scramble into the living room, sloshing water everywhere to grab my phone. After I pull up the superintendent’s contact information, I stab hard at the number. It’s the first time I’ve had to call him since moving in. When I get his voicemail, I growl in frustration.
I leave a screeching, slightly hysterical message for him to please come to my apartment and help me turn the water off. The minute I disconnect, I’m calling Cage. He’s the one who had tinkered with the damn thing already, so he should know what’s wrong with it.
I get his voicemail also. “Cage… damn it. Now is not the time to ignore me. I have a slight emergency over here… like water all over my kitchen from the dishwasher you supposedly fixed for me. Call me. Now!”