Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 131455 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 526(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131455 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 526(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
“She wanted to make spaghetti,” Dad explains. “Mind you, she had never cooked before and had only ever watched her mother.”
“I was seven years old,” I grumble, spearing a cucumber with a bit more force than necessary. “What did I know?”
“Anyway, in case you couldn't tell, we're both fans of Italian food. So she wanted to make sure there was enough spaghetti for both of us and figured a pound per person would do the trick.”
“No!” Callum practically hoots with laughter.
“Add in that she forgot to put a lid on the sauce, so that started bubbling and spitting all over the stove, counter, and backsplash.”
I slide down into my chair and wish for the floor to swallow me. “I did my best.”
“Needless to say, we had pizza that night.” Dad casts a fond smile across the table. “She's not lying though, she's always done her best. Always thinking she had to take care of me, even when she was seven. Then again, she always has been an old soul.
“I used to feel that way about Tatum,” Callum agrees. “There were times when she would look me in the eye with so much wisdom, it was almost scary. Here's this little kid imparting wisdom and common sense. It was rather humbling.”
“That's a good word for it,” Dad agrees.
Meanwhile, here I am, wondering if I should pinch myself and refusing to, because let's face it, I don't want to break the spell. If I'm asleep, I don't want to wake up. This is nice, watching them get along and finding common ground. Even if it means taking a little teasing.
By the time we start on the lasagna and bread, they're talking about football and playoff chances. I don't know much about that, so I tune them out and settle for appreciating how much they seem to have in common once they set aside their differences. I hope it can always be this way, but I'm not naive enough to fully believe that. I'm not going to wish for a miracle. I need to work on appreciating the good moments rather than hoping for something even better.
“I am absolutely, painfully stuffed.” Callum pats his stomach before pushing away from the table after what felt like a lifetime of football talk, staring down at his clean plate. “I don't know where I put it all. If I didn't know better, I'd think you slipped something into that. It's addictive.”
“It looks like I learned to make something the right way,” I retort, smirking at Dad.
“I'm going to go get myself a drink.” Callum turns to Dad. “Can I interest you in anything?”
Dad clears his throat, suddenly looking a little embarrassed. “No, thank you. I... have stopped drinking.”
I have to grip my chair to keep myself from falling off. “Like, entirely?” I ask.
“You don't need to make it sound so surprising,” he says with a gentle smirk. “Yes, entirely. I figured now is the time to get a grasp on it. I want my grandchild to have good memories of me—and I would like to be able to remember spending time with them, too.”
“Wow, I'm… I'm so happy to hear that.” I reach out and cover his hand with mine. Do not cry. Don't be a complete dork about this. There's nothing worse than somebody making a big deal over an issue he would rather they not. I don't want to embarrass him.
Callum leans down and kisses my forehead in passing. I lift my eyes to meet his and see the silent message he's sending me. Do it now. For both of you. I know he's right. I just don't know how to approach the subject.
“Let's go outside for a minute,” I suggest, groaning as I stand. “I need some fresh air to help me digest all my food. Remind me next time not to take seconds.”
“You're eating for two now,” he reminds me.
“Tonight, I ate for four,” I joke as we head for the doors leading out to the patio. The unusual warmth from earlier today has given way to something closer to what I'd expect in late September, and I shiver a little before rubbing my arms.
“I have to admit, this is impressive.” Dad heads straight for the outdoor kitchen, as I knew he would. “What I wouldn't do for a grill like this.”
Then, it's like he catches himself, lowering the lid carefully. “Within reason.”
“Lighten up a little,” I whisper. “Maybe you could come over sometime, and we'll grill together.”
“I'm doing my best,” he murmurs, shrugging.
“You're doing great, and I'm so happy you're here.” I wind an arm around his and rest my head on his shoulder. “It means a lot to me to have you here, and I want you to be a part of my life.
“That's all I want, too.”
“And Callum wants you to be part of things.” I can't pretend I don't notice the way he stiffens up at the mention of Callum's name. “It was his idea to invite you over tonight, since he knew it would make me happy. That's all he wants, for me to have the things that make me content. And you're one of those things.”