Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 88248 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88248 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Ignoring his comment and refusing to admit the way his words go straight to my heart then slide down to my belly, ending at the neglected part between my legs, I call Zane out.
“Wait!” Keegan whisper-yells. “How are we going to do this? Shouldn’t we come up with a game plan or something?”
I stifle my laugh at seeing his cockiness disappear so quickly. “He’s three. It’ll be okay. He likes Legos and thinks SpongeBob is God.”
“What the hell is a SpongeBob?” he asks, and this time I do laugh.
“It’s a cartoon character on a show he watches.”
“Mommy, can we have ice cream for—” Zane stops in his tracks when he spots Keegan standing in the doorway. “Is that for me?” His face lights up. When I look back over at Keegan, confused, I notice he has two more bags in his other hand. One of them with the infamous Build-A-Bear logo on it.
“Zane, that’s not nice,” I tell my son, who’s practically bouncing on his feet in excitement. I call it only child syndrome. Anytime anyone comes over and they have a toy, it’s always for Zane because he’s the only kid around, so now he expects it.
“I’m sorry.” He pouts. “But… is it?”
Keegan laughs at his excitement, but looks to me to guide him as to what to do. I give him a small nod.
“This is my friend Keegan,” I tell Zane. “Keegan, this is Zane.”
Zane stops in his place, his brows furrowing in confusion. I’m not sure what’s going through his head until he says, “That’s my name! Zane Keegan. Mommy yells it when she’s mad. You’re my daddy!”
Oh, shit. How could I have overlooked that? How many times have I mentioned where he got his middle name from, wanting him to know that he has a daddy, even if I didn’t think I’d ever find Keegan. I didn’t think he’d put two and two together, though.
Keegan fake-coughs, his eyes wide in a say something expression. So, I do. “Yes, sweetie, Keegan is your daddy.”
Zane grins and looks down at the bag. “Can I have the gift now?”
Keegan laughs, relieved at how well that went. I shouldn’t be surprised, though. Zane is only three years old, and as easygoing as they come. He’s at an age where he knows who everyone is, but he’s still too young to really understand what’s happening, or to be upset over his dad missing the last several years of his life. Had he been a few years older, this conversation would probably be totally different.
“I wasn’t sure what you would like,” Keegan says nervously, handing Zane the bag. “My mom went with me to the mall. I had no idea how many different things you could buy for a kid his age,” he tells me.
“Look, Mommy!” Zane squeals. “It’s a bear riding a skateboard.” He pulls the bear out of the cardboard house and sets it on the ground, rolling it across the rug.
“What do you say?” I prompt.
Zane yells, “Thanks, Dad!”
With glossy eyes, Keegan stands and, without looking at me, says, “I, uh…Where’s your bathroom?”
“Down the hall. Second door on the right.”
“Thanks.”
While he’s in the bathroom, I set out all the food he bought. “Zane, come eat.”
When Keegan comes out, he’s composed and calm. He sits at the table and gives me one of his signature smiles. “Sorry about that…”
“You don’t have to apologize. Zane’s too young to understand the significance of the word, but I remember the first time he said ‘Mama.’ I cried for ten minutes, then begged him to do it again so I could get it on video. Of course he didn’t.” I laugh. “Not for another week at least.”
Keegan chuckles, and I’m glad the mood has been lightened.
“I got something for you as well,” Keegan says, grabbing the white bag he left on the table when he excused himself to the bathroom.
“You didn’t have to do that.” I open the bag and find a copy of Wuthering Heights in there. Oh, dear God.
“I owed you a copy.” He grins. “For making you drop yours into the Atlantic.”
“Thank you.” I flip through the pages, excited to have my own copy of Wuthering Heights. I haven’t read it since high school, and I wouldn’t dare touch my mom’s copy.
“Mommy, that’s just like Grandma’s!” Zane hops off his chair and runs to the bookshelf that’s filled with all our books, including my mom’s. He stops in front of it and points to it. He knows he’s not allowed to touch those. “See!”
“It is,” I tell him. “This is the same book, only this copy, we can touch.” I give Zane a playful wink.
“Grandma left Mommy all her books, and when I get older, I’m going to get to read all of them,” Zane tells Keegan, sitting back in his seat. “I’m not big enough yet, but when I’m this many”—he holds up both hands, splaying his fingers out wide—“I’m going to read them all!”