Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 119005 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 595(@200wpm)___ 476(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119005 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 595(@200wpm)___ 476(@250wpm)___ 397(@300wpm)
Friends’ parents had divorced all around me, and I’d realized how comforting it was to know my parents weren’t going anywhere. Mum had juggled being a present wife and mother with building a successful writing career, all after having suffered unimaginable loss.
Then there was Aunt Ellie. Before I was born, she was diagnosed with a brain tumor and she’d made a successful career and life for herself, too, despite the anxiety she’d been left with from having the tumor and going through brain surgery. Thankfully, the tumor had been benign, but Mum had told me how scared they all were when they didn’t know how bad it was.
And Aunt Hannah … she’d confessed to me a few years ago that she’d had an ectopic pregnancy as a teenager. The child had been Uncle Marco’s, but he hadn’t known about it and he’d left Scotland. Hannah had been terrified to lose another child, but she’d fought through that fear and had gone on to have her kids and teach a whole bunch of others as a high school English teacher.
I hadn’t escaped my own difficult times. I’d known loss too. But if these incredibly strong women who had helped raised me could do all that, then I was ashamed to think I might not be able to cope or succeed like they did and had. There was a part of me, no matter how irrational, that already felt like a failure for needing to rely on anxiety meds. No matter how many stories or articles I read from other people suffering through anxiety, no matter how I never thought that anyone else was a failure for needing help to manage their anxiety, I couldn’t give myself the same grace and understanding. What the eff was that all about?
Mum looked up at me after I kissed her. “What was that for?”
“Just because.”
Her lips twitched. “You’re getting soft on me, kid.”
“You’re still a pain in my arse.”
“And that’s more like my Beth.” She clinked her glass against mine.
Not long later, we all gathered around the massive dining table my parents had commissioned to accommodate our large family gatherings. When our entire clan got together, there was a minimum of thirty-five people.
We took up one end of it, passing bowls of cheese and salad and salsa to pile on our fajitas. Laughter and conversation danced between us easily, and for the first time in weeks, a wee bit of the pressure on my chest eased. Mum was right. I needed this balance. If I worked, worked, worked, there were no moments of relaxation, of decompressing.
“Got enough cheese there?” Dad teased Mum as she heaped a shit ton on her plate.
She glowered. “What’s it to you?”
“Well, you have been known to fart after too much cheese, and I share a bed with you.”
Everyone but Grandma Elodie and Mum laughed. “Braden!” Grandma Elodie scolded.
Mum’s eyes danced with amusement even as she attempted to hold on to a glare. “For better or worse, Carmichael.”
“True. And I did know about the farting before we got married.”
“Can we stop saying fart at the dinner table?” Grandma Elodie asked primly.
“Yes, please,” Mum agreed, eyes still on Dad. “And stop acting like I have a flatulence problem.”
“I don’t know … it’s been going on a while.”
Elle giggled as Luke snort-laughed.
“Name a time I farted.”
“It’s hard to believe this conversation is taking place between two grown-ups. I’m sure I recently sat through a similar conversation with Freya and Catriona.” Grandma Elodie arched an eyebrow as she referred to the youngest members of our clan, my uncle Cole and aunt Shannon’s daughters.
“I am being accused of having a flatulence problem.”
“We’d barely begun dating—all the while pretending we weren’t dating—when you farted on the couch. We hadn’t been seeing each other that long and boom, all the mystery was gone.” Dad took a bite of his fajita, eyes twinkling with mischief.
I was stuck on the “pretending we weren’t dating,” and upon meeting my siblings’ gazes, I saw they were too. Before I could question it, Mum huffed, “One—I hate that you remember absolutely everything. Two—if I recall correctly, you were tickling me!”
Dad shrugged.
“Braden Carmichael—”
“Wait—” I cut off Mum. “Pretending to date?”
Luke and Elle leaned forward too. None of us had heard this part of our parents’ relationship story.
“Your mum was in denial that she loved me.” Dad shrugged. “So we pretended it was no strings until she came to her senses.”
“Clearly, I never came to my senses because I ended up married to you.”
Dad grinned unrepentantly, and my mum gave him a heated look I unfortunately knew all too well. The times I’d walked in on my parents all over each other were too many to count. I couldn’t even think about the time I’d caught them having sex in the bathroom at Uncle Nate and Aunt Liv’s anniversary party six years ago. My parents had never lost their passion. It was well known among my friends, too, because they’d often commented on how affectionate Dad was with Mum. To my everlasting mortification, I’d discovered only a few months ago on a drunken night out that Dad was on both Cara’s and Michaela’s DILF lists.