Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 89012 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89012 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
She pulls back, wiping her eyes with the end of her shirt. “I got a letter from him just after …” She fights not to sob again. “And he told me that he loved me and that he wants me to always remember that I deserve to be happy. To never settle for anything less than that.”
I want to ask what happened, but that seems too … cruel. She lost him. That tears my heart in two for her.
How would I cope with losing Maddox forever? Never getting to see his smile again or feel his body against mine?
A shiver races through me.
“He sounds amazing, Bec. I’m so glad you had him, and I’m so sorry he’s not still here.”
She takes my hands in hers. Her eyes clear. “But you have Maddox. He loves you like Cord loved me.”
I think of his cheeky smile on the plane. His face lit by the candles on the beach. The strawberry in the kitchen and bringing snacks to bed. His laughter with the pigs and the warmth of his body in bed the night before we came back.
“Make the memories, Ashley. Make them while you can. I’m not promising you that it will work out, but I am saying that you don’t know if you’ll get tomorrow. If you want him today, that’s enough.”
We sit quietly for a long time, the mist billowing around us. I think I know what I want to do, but will Maddox? Will he try too?
“Make the memories, Ashley. Make them while you can. If you want him today, that’s enough.”
After a long while, I pull out my phone.
Me:
Maddox:
THIRTY-TWO
Maddox
“Hey, hey,” I say, coming into my parents’ kitchen.
Mom looks up at me from the table. She sets a notebook down. “What are you carrying? You better not have anything alive in there.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m not a child anymore.”
“Debatable.” She grins. “Really—what’s going on?”
“How do you feel about making soup?” I set her kettle down on the counter. “I found this in my kitchen this morning, so I thought I’d bring it back. But then I wanted soup. So I went to the store and got chicken, onion, celery, carrots, and egg noodles. You’re on your own when it comes to spices. Oh! This lady in the egg noodle aisle told me you’d need chicken stock. Got that too.”
She stares at me.
“What?” I ask.
“Nothing,” she mumbles, getting to her feet. She joins me in the kitchen and peers in the pot. “I think you got it all.”
“Why do you sound surprised?”
“No reason.” She takes everything out of the kettle and sets it on the counter. “So how was work today?”
Long. Terrible. No good. Very bad.
Tati kept looking at me like she was disappointed in me. What does she want? I ironed my shirt and took a shower last night. That’s progress.
Kind of. I really just figured it was better to be productive while I commiserated over Ashley instead of lying prostrate thinking of her.
“Banks said that you and Ashley are on the fritz,” Mom says.
I sit at the table. “Banks did not say fritz.”
“Oh, he did. Believe it or not.” She shakes her head and shrugs as if Banks perplexes her too. “Anyway, what’s going on there?”
How do I put it? “I’m an idiot.”
“Noted. Anything else?”
“That was the wrong response,” I say. “Come on. Where’s the mom spiel? The—my baby boy isn’t an idiot. What did she do to you, buttercup?”
She lifts a brow. “Buttercup?”
“You know what I mean.”
“Well, you said you were the idiot. I would venture to guess that you could be an idiot in relationships under the right circumstances. I’m not going to argue with you.”
“Wow, Mom. You’re the best. And we wonder where Foxx gets it.”
“Do you want this soup? If so, you better shush.” She washes the kettle like she doesn’t trust me. “She answered your phone, you know. When you were in the Bahamas.”
Do I know? How could I forget that?
I close my eyes and try not to go there—not again and not in front of my mother.
“I know,” I say. “I was … otherwise occupied.”
“Figured as much.”
My eyes fly open. “I don’t even want to know what you mean by that.”
“Good, because I’m not telling you.”
“Tell me.” Jess walks in and plants a kiss on Mom’s cheek. “Making soup? In this heat?”
Mom doesn’t look up. She just points at me.
“Oh.” Jess sits across from me. “How are you?”
“On a scale of one to ten, I’m a three. You?”
“Ten. Have you seen Sparkles today?”
I snort.
“Hey, what happened to Banks?” Mom holds a knife in her hand. “I saw him this morning, and I swear he … shimmered.”
Jess tries desperately not to laugh. “I think he had an accident while mixing paint at work. That’s my guess, anyway.”
“Terrible excuse,” I whisper.