Total pages in book: 144
Estimated words: 134830 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 674(@200wpm)___ 539(@250wpm)___ 449(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 134830 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 674(@200wpm)___ 539(@250wpm)___ 449(@300wpm)
They sit down beside each other, with Mom at Dad’s right, and she gasps when she looks at him. “Oh, sorry!” She swipes at Dad’s mouth with her thumb, smiling softly.
“Hey, everyone, sorry. I had to take that call,” Dad says, scanning the table. He gets to Dani and stops. I place a hand on her thigh, visibly claiming Dani and warning Dad to tread carefully. “Hello. Miranda said Kyle brought a friend. I’m Charles Harrington, nice to meet you.”
“Dani Becerra.” She smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. She also doesn’t say ‘it’s nice to meet you too.’ It’s a little thing, but I’m confident it’s intentional.
I clear my throat, and Mom interjects before Dad and I can get started. “Let’s eat before it gets cold.” Everyone rushes to follow her lead and starts passing platters and bowls around as quickly as possible. Kayla goes so far as to shove a basket of bread at me, but given her threatening scowl, I guess I should be thankful she doesn’t actually jam a roll into my mouth to shut up anything I’m about to say.
I take a roll, placing it on my plate, and pass the basket to Dani, doing the same as the other dishes come around the table. The chef made chicken marsala tonight, a recent favorite of Janey’s, plus asparagus, roasted new potatoes, and caprese salad.
Once everyone has their plates filled, Mom asks Janey, “How are you feeling? Any contractions yet?”
“A few Braxton-Hicks ones, but nothing serious. Cole’s keeping track of those too, though,” she says, glancing at my brother affectionately. “He thinks I won’t know the difference and will miss out on the early signs of labor and not make it to the hospital in time.”
“Six percent of babies not born in a hospital are born in the car,” Cole replies, sounding like he’s researched and reported that statistic countless times before.
“You’ll know the difference when the time is right,” Mom says, sounding sure of that. And I guess she would, considering she’s delivered six babies.
Talk turns to all things baby, and Janey and Cole become the center of attention, sharing their plans for labor and birth—which thankfully aren’t too descriptive considering we’re eating—and their first few days at home.
“I think we’re gonna see everyone at the hospital and then cocoon in for a bit while I recover,” Janey says.
Mom nods, but it’s Cameron who interjects. “You’ll need lots of ice packs for the swelling and lemon slushies to stay hydrated. Stock up now.”
Everyone freezes, forks poised over plates and on their way to mouths, and looks at him. Cameron doesn’t talk about his late wife and life with her very often. He certainly doesn’t talk about how he feels about life without her, with a mini-version of her at his side in his daughter.
He licks his lips like he’s regretting speaking up and buries his attention in his plate again.
“Ice packs. Lemon slushies. Got it. Thanks, Cam,” Cole tells him. There’s emotion in his voice, and it’s heartfelt enough to get through to even me.
Dani gives me a curious look, and I subtly shake my head, asking her to leave it for now. I’ll explain later, though I don’t know how much I can. I was a stupid, self-involved kid when Cameron’s wife died. I remember going to the funeral, and Cameron nearly drinking himself to death in the few days after. I remember Mom taking care of Grace and having whispered conversations with people on the phone about how Cameron was doing. And then… nothing. I can’t even remember the last time we mentioned her by name. It’s like she never existed. It’s like the trauma never happened.
We don’t talk about it, we don’t acknowledge it, we pretend it never happened.
A lot like we do for anything painful.
Well, fuck that. I think the time for hushed whispers and shoving the dirty details under the rug is long since passed.
“Maybe you can get help like Mom and Dad did,” I suggest, my eyes locked on Dad. “Hire out the stuff you don’t want to do. Just watch out for any unexpected bonus surprises.”
There’s a collective gasp, more at my sharply bitter tone than the words, which could be construed as accidentally getting pregnant. But that’s not what I mean, and the way Mom and Dad are looking at me makes it seem like they know exactly what I’m talking about.
“Kyle.” The single word from Dad is delivered with all the authority he thinks he holds over the family. Over each of us, including me.
“Dad,” I answer, equally stern. “Or…” I taunt.
“Kyle! What are you talking about?” Mom hisses, looking at Dani like she doesn’t want to display our family skeletons in front of company.
“I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but this is not the time, nor the place, for it,” Dad decrees, expecting me to obey.