Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 98412 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 394(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98412 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 394(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
“Better be careful,” he advised, gesturing with the sander in his hand. “She’s got some complicated routine she uses to clean those.”
“No shit?” I asked, setting the pail down so I could take a step away from it.
“No shit,” he confirmed. “Might want to Google it.”
I was pretty sure Stan hadn’t ever used the internet, but I followed his advice. There were about fifty different links telling me fifty different ways to clean those fucking diapers. Soak them, don’t soak them, use half the amount of detergent, use the recommended amount of detergent. Some of the websites even advised to use some special shit made for cloth diapers, but I ignored those, assuming that they were trying to sell their own brand of laundry soap.
“Does she soak these?” I asked Stan finally, yelling over the noise of the sander.
“Nope,” he yelled back.
“Well, shit,” I mumbled, pulling up another website with a routine that didn’t involve soaking.
It took me at least half an hour to find what looked like a reputable cloth-diaper company’s diaper-washing recommendations. Pulling the diapers out of the pail was like that Halloween game when you’re a kid when they’d blindfold you and then put your hand into a bowl of spaghetti noodles or wet gummy bears. I had no idea what I was going to encounter every time I dipped my hand back into that pail, but I just kept doing it until there wasn’t anything left to grab.
“Brave man,” Stan said, coming up beside me to peek into the washing machine. “Don’t know why she can’t buy regular diapers like everyone else.”
“I don’t know either,” I replied, holding my contaminated hand out to the side, careful not to touch anything.
“What are you doing?” Morgan asked suspiciously from behind us, making me and Stan both jump.
“Laundry,” I replied, awkwardly holding my hand as far from her as I could as I turned around. “Did you have a good rest?”
“Why are you doing—” She must have caught a whiff of the diapers because her nose wrinkled and her eyes widened. “Please tell me you didn’t do anything to Etta’s diapers.”
I shook my head quickly, scooting the pail behind me with my foot. “I just put them into the machine.”
“Oh, thank God,” she said in relief. She checked inside the washer, then leaned around me. “Oh, Trev,” she said softly, starting to snicker.
“What?” I asked, spinning around, my hand waving wildly in the air. “Is there something on me?”
“No,” she choked out, reaching for the pail.
I took a big step back as she pulled the liner out of the plastic pail and tossed it in on top of the dirty diapers.
“All you have to do is pull the liner out and empty the diapers into the machine and then throw the liner in with them,” she said, her eyes wide as she tried not to laugh. She kept glancing at my hand as I held it straight out beside me. “Did you—” She giggled, then cleared her throat. “I’m guessing that’s the hand you used?”
“You could have told me,” I hollered at Stan, who was over at his workbench snickering.
“Thank you,” Morgan said, her eyes shining as she reached out and started the washing machine. “Washing diapers was next on my to-do list.”
“You’re welcome. Uh, I really need to wash my hands,” I mumbled.
“Come on.” She grabbed my wrist and towed me back into the house
As soon as we reached the sink, she poured soap into my hand and turned on the faucet, making sure the water was the right temperature before she stepped out of the way. “You didn’t have to do that,” she said, staying close by my side as I scrubbed my hands.
“I know.” I looked down at her while I continued to scrub. “But it needed to be done.”
“Sorry, I fell asleep. You should have woken me up.”
“You obviously needed it,” I replied, twisting a little to kiss the top of her head. I love you, I thought.
“Yeah, it’s been kind of a shit show around here lately,” she confessed, leaning against the counter. “I haven’t found a new job yet and we’ve all been tripping over each other. By the time I get to bed at night, I can’t fall asleep because my mind is too full of junk.”
“You can’t stop thinking about my junk, huh?” I teased, reaching for a towel.
“Yes,” she replied, deadpan. “That’s exactly what I meant.”
I laughed and turned to her, smoothing the hair back from her face gently. “It’ll all work out, beautiful,” I said softly. “You know that, right?”
“Yeah.” She sighed. “I can’t believe you drove all the way down here.”
“I told you,” I said. “I missed you.”
“Still.” She looked past me and twisted her lips a little. “I’m not sure what you were hoping for.”
“Yeah you are,” I chastised.