Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 87826 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87826 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
“Sorry, can’t!” I yell back to her as I run through the hallway. “Forgot my dinner date with Mom!”
“Oh, okay,” she replies. “Have fun!”
“Thanks.” I quickly run out before she asks me anything else.
I really do not have the time right now to worry about what article she’s working on or the advice she usually asks me for. I quickly run to my car, drive home, and rummage in my pocket, looking for the keys to my house so I can get in and call Mom to ask if she’s still in the neighborhood. Because she’s definitely not here anymore. Knowing her, she’s probably already had her driver take her back home, and I don’t blame her. I would’ve done the same if someone stood me up like that. God, I’m such an idiot for not keeping track of my schedule.
After I’ve finally pried the door open, I throw my purse on the floor and take off my coat, then immediately fish my phone from my pocket.
“Hey, honey!”
My mom’s sudden voice makes me drop my phone.
“Mom?”
She walks out of the kitchen. “Oh, did I scare you?” she asks.
“Just a little,” I reply, laughing awkwardly.
“Sorry, I just let myself in. Figured I’d make some teas since you weren’t here yet.”
She still has a key? Crap. Why did I give that to her again? I completely forgot about that too.
When she attempts to hug me, she inches back and winces. “What’s that smell? Ugh.”
I sniff my armpits. A bit of sweat but nothing extreme. “I’ll go shower,” I say.
“Good,” she says, making me roll my eyes.
“Don’t burn down the house while I’m in the bathroom,” I retort.
“Why would I do that?” she yells as I close the door behind me and snort.
“Just don’t start cooking, please,” I say. Knowing her, she’ll attempt it anyway, regardless of what I say or ask her. She’ll never fully admit she can’t actually cook.
“I’ll just go sit here on the couch then,” she says while I take off my clothes.
“Feel free to turn on the TV,” I reply as I turn on the shower and step under it.
I let out a sigh of relief as the warm water rolls down my skin. The solitude that comes with the heat feels amazing. It allows me to think about what’s been happening in my life recently and how I’m going to deal with things from now on.
I should be more careful with who I choose to trust. Who I want to spend my time with. Because you never know when your heart will decide to slowly fall for the wrong person. And there’s nothing you can do about it.
Suddenly, I hear my phone ring, and I turn my head only to realize I left it in my purse. Well, shit. Guess I’m not going to pick it up then. No way am I going to rush out the bathroom naked with my mom sitting on the couch.
So I shrug it off and wait for the noise to stop. It’s hard to tell with all this water rushing into my ears, though. Instead, I focus on lathering my body with soap, and then washing my hair, making sure I’m squeaky clean before turning off the shower and grabbing a towel to dry off with.
I wrap it around my body and walk out of the bathroom while my mom’s still sitting on the couch. She’s constantly flipping through the channels like she doesn’t find any of them remotely interesting.
“So how’s Dad?” I ask, trying to casually stir up a conversation.
“Fine, I guess,” she snaps.
Well, this is going great.
“Still not slowing down with all the work?” I ask.
“No, and I don’t want him to.”
I slam my lips shut. Right. Okay. Awkward.
“Fred and I haven’t actually spoken in days.”
“Really?” I say as I go into my bedroom and put on a comfy light blue shirt along with a pair of white sweatpants. “Not even during dinner?”
“He’s never home for dinner!” she squawks. “Let alone the rest of the day. I don’t know what it is that he’s doing at work, but I’m getting sick and tired of it, and I’ve had enough.”
I suck in a breath and brush my hair out while thinking of what to say. I was hoping this would be a casual dinner date, nice and quiet, but I don’t think Mom’s doing so great right now.
“Have you talked to him about it?” I ask as I tuck my hair into a bun.
“Like he’s ever available,” she says, taking a sip of her tea. “With whatever it is he’s doing.” She makes a “tsk” sound with her lips.
Why would she not know what he’s doing? Is Dad really that secretive? Or does Mom just not care about the business?
“I don’t even wanna know at this point,” she adds. “I just want him to be there, you know?”