Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 91058 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91058 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
We sit around the table at lunch, and Scarlett voluntarily puts herself within firing range of my youngest niece, Wren. At one point, Wren reaches out and gets a good chunk of Scarlett’s hair in her hands, really making sure to rub her sticky chicken salad fingers onto every strand.
My mom almost has an aneurysm. “Scarlett! Oh no, I’m so sorry. Here, come over to the sink and let me help you rinse that out.”
Scarlett smiles and rolls with the punches, gently untangling her hair from Wren’s grip and replacing it with her pinky finger instead. Wren is just as satisfied, kicking her feet and smiling a big gummy smile that Scarlett returns.
“I grew up with three older brothers,” she explains to everyone. “This isn’t the first time I’ve had chicken salad in my hair at the dinner table.”
“Three older brothers?!” Corinne sounds horrified by the concept. “Hudson was bad enough on his own.”
Naturally, this turns the conversation toward our childhood. Scarlett is desperate for stories of my adolescence (likely for blackmail purposes), and my sister delivers.
“Oh he used to love playing with Barbies. Yeah, he’d get really into it—”
“As most anyone would!” my mom cuts in, defending my honor and trying to ensure that nothing my sister says will change Scarlett’s good opinion of me. Little does she know there’s no good opinion left. Corinne can talk away.
“He went through a phase where his favorite color was purple. He was obsessed. He’d wear this purple shirt of mine that said ‘Girl Power!’ across the front until he had his first growth spurt and…” She has to pause here to laugh. “He couldn’t even fit his little head through the hole. Oh my god, do you remember that day? You cried and made Mom take you shopping to find another purple shirt.”
“No, no, I don’t remember that,” my mom chides, shooting Corinne harsh glares and miming her pointer finger slashing across her throat.
Scarlett just laughs, looking over at me, likely trying to reconcile the man she knows now with the child who cried over a purple t-shirt. I shrug and go back to eating.
“He was such a good little boy,” my mother adds, derailing the fun conversation with a list of qualities she thinks will win Scarlett over. “Very respectful and smart. So smart! Tell her, Hudson. Tell her how you were always on the honor roll in school.”
Corinne cracks up. “Mom! She knows Hudson is smart. They work together.”
“Oh fine. Can’t a mom brag on her son a little bit?”
I stand up and slap my hands down on the table, drawing the attention of my nieces and nephew. “Who wants cake?”
I’m surprised the responding ear-splitting squeals don’t shatter the windows.
While my mom is opening her presents, Scarlett sneaks around the kitchen, tidying up, quietly gathering plates so my mom doesn’t have such a mess to contend with once we’re all gone. By the end of the party, everyone’s about ready to trade me in for her. None of the kids understand exactly why she isn’t just a part of the family from now on. While I’m outside on the trampoline with the kids, they hound me with questions.
“Are you like married now?” Annabelle asks with a deeply serious expression.
“Nah, kiddo.”
“But you’re going to get married?”
I snort. “Not even close.”
Jack asks, “Do you love her?” but because he’s three it comes out sounding like, “Do you luff hewr?”
“Luff hewr! Luff hewr! Luff hewr!” Jack repeats, going on and on with it so that I have no choice but to double-bounce him and send him careening into the air in a fit of giggles.
“Do that to me! To me!” Annabelle demands.
By 4:00 p.m., the kids are exhausted, the cake’s been eaten in multiple waves, and everyone’s on the downward slope of their sugar high. When I nudge Scarlett and let her know it’s time for us to hit the road, everyone demands a hug from her. Annabelle wants two, but I think the second time around she was using the embrace as a ploy to whisper in Scarlett’s ear what kind of makeup she wants Scarlett to buy her for her birthday in June.
“Thank you for having me in your home,” Scarlett tells my mom.
My mom rushes forward and squeezes her tightly. “It was so so nice to meet you. Don’t be a stranger, okay?”
Scarlett steps back and nods.
Outside, everyone gathers on the front stoop to watch us head down the path to the car.
“Bye, Scarlett!” Annabelle shouts.
“Luff hewr!” Jack adds, now programmed to repeat the phrase because it gets a laugh from Annabelle every time.
The tableau is so wholesome it looks like the end of a made-for-TV movie. It’s not until we’re in my car, safely tucked behind closed doors, and halfway down the block that Scarlett whacks me on the arm.