Total pages in book: 142
Estimated words: 135522 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135522 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 542(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
“Huh … ‘playing’,” my dad murmurs, finding that funny, then comes up to the table to help himself to a cookie—an action which my mom quickly puts a stop to, swatting at his hand. “They’re for the boys,” she clips. He stares at her in shock, until she turns sweet again and says, “Just kiddin’, honey, there’s plenty, help yourself.”
The second my dad takes a bite, he’s under the spell, too, and then it’s the three of them sharing warm conversation, laughing, and gobbling down my mom’s cookies, which I’ll presume haven’t earned themselves a name just yet—or a spot in one of her dozens of illustrated recipe books.
“Of course I want to see your trains!” exclaims Cole when my dad brings up the inevitable subject of his tiny train town he calls Windville, and then the pair of them are off to the guestroom as I stay behind to clean up the (now empty) cookie dish.
I guess Cole and my parents are best friends now.
Considering we were just enjoying mutual hand jobs on my bed half an hour ago, I am containing a variety of weird emotions inside my head about everything that’s happening before my eyes. I feel so unreal. I feel like I’m not here. This is like a dream, except I’m far too aware of my anxiety, and nothing feels right. Does Cole even like miniature trains?
My mom comes up next to me. “So did you talk to Lauren?”
I flinch from my thoughts. “Who?”
“Cole’s mother. You interviewed him at his house yesterday, didn’t you? Did you see his mother?”
“No.”
“Why not? She would’ve been there, I’d reckon! I wanted you to say hi to her. Y’know, from me. I told you the other night.”
I scrunch up my face. “You didn’t actually tell me to say hi. You cut yourself off, said ‘never mind’, and left.”
“Oh, you know what I meant!”
“What you meant by ‘never mind’ and leaving …?”
She lets out an exasperated sigh, takes a breath, then grabs a glass out of the cupboard and goes to the sink for some water. “I’m just wonderin’ how she’s doin’ is all. Is that a crime? It’s been … a long time since her and I have talked, too long.”
“She and I,” I mumble, then turn to my mom. “So it’s true that you used to be friends? That Cole and I used to be friends?”
“Cole and me,” she incorrectly corrects me, just to spite me.
I steamroll on with a touch of irritation. "Is this why you’re being so nice to him? Baking those cookies, smothering him with sweetness, and asking about his mother over and over? Because you’re trying to make up with her through him?”
My mom snaps. “Oh, can’t I just be nice for no good reason? I like to be nice! And I like to bake things! And all I want to do with all the rest of my days on this earth is be nice and bake things! Why must you make it so difficult, sweetie?” She downs her water in one gulp, sets the empty glass down too hard, quietly apologizes to the glass, then heads out of the kitchen.
I frown for a moment, unsure what to make of her explosion, then decide not to poke the hornet’s nest any further. I can’t trust how I feel at the moment, anyway. Everything is upside-down and my nerves are bounding around like rubber bands. I gently put her glass in the dishwasher, dry my hands, and quietly walk away.
My quiet feet only seem to take me from one odd situation to another, as I end up at the door to the guestroom and find Cole at the card table with my excitedly talking father, who is telling him about each and every part of his train town in excruciating detail.
But Cole doesn’t look bored at all. In fact, he seems entirely engaged in my dad’s stories. He even asks questions, appearing to be curious about every little thing. My dad is happy to oblige as he shares the (made-up) history of his train town called Windville. “If you look here,” he says in his jolly voice, “you’ll find the Windville windmill. Isn’t that funny? Mayor Windville is a funny guy, he is. Has himself a sense of humor. Big mustache, wiry guy. You might say he looks suspiciously like me …”
I’m completely baffled by my family right now. How they’re gobbling Cole up like a free dessert they never ordered. Like they are starved for the outside world, happy to show off their interests and hobbies to anyone foolish enough to get caught in the trap.
Or maybe it’s Cole who’s gobbling them up, having the time of his life somehow, appreciating them in a way I never could.
I feel so strange right now.
It’s an hour later when my parents finally go to bed, leaving us to our night. The kitchen and living room go dark, and the only light (or life) in the house seems to be me and Cole, down the short hallway where my bedroom resides.