Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 72060 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72060 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
"Great," Shelby says. "Shall I grab pillows and we can sit on the floor and have a picnic?”
"We can sit in the kitchen. There are stools there," Travis says and glares at Shelby.
"We’ll make do," I say, wrapping my arms around his waist. "Also, I wouldn’t be surprised if we come home tomorrow and the house is fully furnished." I walk into the house and wonder if I should tackle the boxes today or start fresh tomorrow.
"Tomorrow," Travis says, bending to kiss my neck, and I shake my head and laugh that he knew what I was thinking.
"I’m starving, and there are only two stools," Clarabella says, grabbing a bag from her mother. "What do we have here?” She starts taking out the containers. "Pasta.” She puts it on the counter. "Chicken." She takes another one out. "Rice, veggies, garlic mashed potatoes, grilled chicken, and sliders."
"I’ll go get some chairs in the garage," Travis says, kissing my neck and walking to get the chairs.
"There are paper plates in this one," Shelby says, grabbing them and putting them on the counter.
"Does this count toward our weekly family dinner?" Presley asks, opening the containers for us to help ourselves. "I vote yes."
"This is a celebratory dinner," his mom says, smiling at me. She comes over and gives me a hug. "We are so happy you are here."
"I’m happy to be here." I smile at her, grabbing a plate and filling it.
"I don’t think we’ve ever had a meal here," Clarabella says, getting on a stool.
"We had breakfast here the day of his wedding," Presley reminds her, and then her eyes widen as she turns to me. "I’m sorry."
I chuckle. "I’m fine with it." I shrug. "He’s the one who gets reminded of it." I grab a piece of carrot. "Weekly."
"We had dinner here on his birthday," his mom says. "Last year."
I look down at my food, and I have this sudden feeling of sorrow that washes over me. "Yes, and he had the lemon cake," Clarabella says, moaning. "That was the best cake I’ve had in my life."
"I don’t know about you guys," Presley states, and I look up at her. "But I’m happy that you are here."
"Thank you," I say.
"It’s not just because you are nicer," Clarabella says. "And easier to talk to." I look at them, and then his mother clears her throat. "What? You can’t tell me you don’t see a difference in him."
"There is a huge difference," his mother shares. "It’s night and day. Every time I would invite him for dinner, he would just say yeah and come alone. Now I ask him about dinner, and he has to check with you."
The talking stops when he comes into the room with two chairs. "That’s all I found."
"That’s okay. I can stand," I say and he comes over and grabs a plate, coming to stand next to me when we eat. The talking is free around the table, and when he helps clean up, his mother sends him to the store to get milk for our coffee tomorrow. Clarabella and Shelby also take off with Presley following them.
"Are you okay?" His mother looks at me, and I smile. "It’s okay to miss home."
"I miss home," I admit. "But I’m happier that I’m here." I look around the empty house, and I can see myself having coffee every single morning. But more importantly, I can see us building our lives here.
"Are you going to be okay living here in this house?" she asks, and I see her nervously wringing her hands. "He was engaged."
"Yes," I confirm. "But she didn’t live here."
"That she didn’t," she says. "She barely came here. I think she did once, and then she was going to move in when they got married." She looks down at her hands and then up again. "I didn’t think I’d ever see him happy again." She blinks away the tears that are welling up in her eyes. "Every time I would ask him if he was okay, he would bark at me that he was fine, but I knew he wasn’t."
"I know how that feels. He wasn’t the only one not happy."
"When he told me he was getting married, I knew it was a mistake. God, I felt it in my bones. I tried so hard to be supportive, but then every time the wedding discussion came up, he just said I don’t care, just do whatever. Who does that?" She shakes her head. "I bet you everything that I have if I ask him about your wedding, he’s going to have a list of things that he wants done for you."
I can’t help but smile. "I don’t know Jennifer," I say. "And I don’t ask him any questions about it because well, it’s in the past, but I’m really, really happy that I got that invitation in the mail."