Total pages in book: 55
Estimated words: 52976 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 265(@200wpm)___ 212(@250wpm)___ 177(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52976 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 265(@200wpm)___ 212(@250wpm)___ 177(@300wpm)
“You need to clean out the fridge,” says Byron.
I pop a few tasty kernels into my mouth as Weston bursts into laughter at the TV. “What do you mean?”
Byron smirks at me. “You keep ordering pizza each and every night you’re home by yourself with Weston, eat one and a half slices, then forget about the rest.” He eyes me. “So wasteful. You leaving it in there for me?”
I turn my eyes coyly back to the TV. Warmth swirls in my heart, making my inner candlelight dance. “Never know when a cold slice of pizza will hit the spot.”
Byron makes a face. “Uh, never …? Cold pizza is gross, and when you microwave it, it gets all soggy.”
I nudge a rather cartoon-distracted Weston. “Hey, little bud, you like cold pizza? Is it gross or yummy?”
He barely peels his eyes away from the TV when he shouts, “Any pizza is good pizza!”
Byron eyes me over the bowl of popcorn like I just betrayed him, then shakes his head and suppresses a laugh. The matter is dropped just like that.
And I smile privately to myself.
The doorbell starts ringing around 6:30, bringing us our first helping of kids. We were planning on doing a little trip around the neighborhood with Weston first before settling in for the trick-or-treaters, but I guess we will go another year without the time-honored tradition.
As long as Weston is smiling, we’re happy.
“You wanna hand out candy?” asks Byron after the doorbell rings again.
Weston squirms on the couch, indecisive. “Um …”
“We can do it together,” suggests Byron. “All three of us. I wonder who will await on the other side of that door? Maybe you’ll encounter Spider-Man! Or a little witch with striped stockings! Or Sonic the Hedgehog!”
It isn’t fear or excitement that drives Weston now; it’s pure curiosity. “Okay!” he finally decides.
We stand by the door and watch our Weston run the show, giving out candy to our current group of trick-or-treaters. (It’s a quartet of ninjas and a cute homemade velociraptor, by the way.) He has a little work to do on his manners, because each time he drops candies into a bucket, he’ll say, “Thanks, go away,” in the most polite voice possible. Then the kids skitter off, we close the door, and Weston appears proud of himself each time.
“Grandpas Douglas and Mortimer would be proud of you tonight!” sings Byron in a happy, squeaky voice. “They can’t wait to see you this coming Thanksgiving!”
That catches me by surprise. “We’re hosting again this year?” I ask him.
He smirks at me. “You already forgot? I do believe your parents arranged the whole thing with you the last time they called. We’re doing Thanksgiving again, and they’re doing Christmas and New Year’s.”
“Ooh, right. I must’ve gotten it flipped around.”
“Probably because immediately afterwards, you got a call from Mrs. Shaheen with her big news about—”
“Auntie Shaheen?!” cries out Weston at the front door. One minute, he was anxiously awaiting his next group of trick-or-treaters. Now that the magical name of Mrs. Shaheen has been dropped, his full focus is on his favorite eccentric lady on Earth. “When do we get to see her again?! She always tells the funniest stories! I want her to read my palms!”
Byron and I look at each other, then chuckle. “You won’t have to wait long,” Byron assures him. “Last I heard, she’s planning to come here with the family.”
Over the years, Mrs. Shaheen has seen some very unexpected success with her Madam Seazall business. She was forced to learn the ins and outs of social media after a highly-followed celebrity did a whole thing that involved Madam Seazall and the “building of a hundred ghosts” that she owns, and it went viral. Mrs. Shaheen was up to her nose in customers, interviews, requests for partnerships, and so much more after that. I’m not sure whether it’s the kind of attention she was looking for, but it seemed to keep her busy—and happy.
After that, she was invited to provide her insight for Douglas and Mortimer’s latest bestselling book, which was a vast departure from their usual fear-mongering style. Now they see the paranormal as something less to be “totally banished from society” and more a curious matter to be studied and understood. They learned quite a bit from my relationship with Westley, which served as a central inspiration for their book.
I suppose there is always room to evolve and grow.
It’s after our thirty-third group of trick-or-treaters leaves—and while Byron busies himself in the kitchen making us all hot chocolate—that our sweet boy makes a surprising announcement: “I want to go!”
I lift my eyebrows. Byron pokes his head out of the kitchen. “Go …?” we both ask in unison.
“Yes!” Weston shuffles his feet awkwardly, glances at the front door, then back at us. “I’ll wear the costume, Daddy. I … I don’t wanna—” He burps with deep and impressive volume. “—make you cry tears all night by not wearing the costume.”