Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 85711 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 429(@200wpm)___ 343(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85711 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 429(@200wpm)___ 343(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
“She’s right here,” he says, walking in the house. I look over at Jillian, who has her own tears running down her face. I lean in and kiss the side of her head. “Angel,” my father says, and I can see that he’s in their bedroom. “Jillian and Michael are on the phone.”
He gets on the bed with her, and I can tell that she was crying. “Hi, guys.” She tries to smile, but she sobs out. “I heard the audio.”
“Mom,” I say, and Jillian punches me in the side to shut me up.
“It’s beautiful,” she says. My father kisses her lips as she looks up at him. “We wish we could have been there.”
“Oh, good God,” Alex says, coming into the room pushing my mother over. “What else did the doctor say?”
“That it’s going to be a big baby,” Jillian says.
“Michael was close to eleven pounds,” my mother says proudly as Alex cringes and pretends to throw up.
“Bet you regret sleeping with his fat head right about now.” Alex pushes her face into the phone.
“Alex,” my parents hiss out at the same time as Jillian’s stomach growls.
“Okay, I’ll call you guys back after we eat,” I say, hanging up the phone. “You hungry?”
“I’m carrying a human. I’m always hungry,” she says. “This is me getting hangry.”
“What do you want to eat?” I ask her, and I want to touch her. I want to hold her hand. I want to hug her because I just want to fucking be able to do all of that, and it kills me that I can’t just do it.
“Greasy food.” She smiles at me. “Like running-down-your-arm greasy.”
“There is this burger place,” I start to tell her.
“I like where this is going,” she tells me, her eyes lighting up.
“I can get the food and meet you at your house so you can relax a bit,” I suggest, and she smiles so big and wide.
“You did check Google.” She laughs. “Smart man.”
“What do you take on your burger?” I ask her as I walk her to her car.
“Everything,” she says. “Oh, and get fries.” She opens her car door. “And onion rings.” I laugh at her.
“I’ll order one of everything,” I say, and she nods her head.
“I’m assuming you aren’t going to let me pay.” I glare at her question.
“We have things to talk about, Jillian,” I share, and I’m not joking. “Lots of things.”
She rolls her eyes at me. “Bring me food, and we can talk.” She starts the car, and I watch her drive off.
I get into the SUV, calling my father right away. “Hey, how do I get Jillian added to my insurance?” I ask him, totally unaware of how any of this works. “Or how do I get her and the baby their own insurance.”
“I’ll call my guy tomorrow and get them their own,” he says without skipping a beat. “I should have asked her for her information when I was there.”
“She didn’t want to get an ultrasound because her insurance wouldn’t cover it,” I say, the burning coming back in my stomach. “Dad, I felt like a deadbeat,” I finally admit. “Like I couldn’t take care of my family.”
“One,” he clarifies. “A deadbeat father is someone who knows about their kid and chooses not to take care of them. Two, from the minute you found out, you have taken care of your family.” Even though he says the words, nothing reassures me. “Three,” he huffs out. “I really think you and Jillian need to sit down and discuss this.”
“No shit,” I say. “Okay, I’ll send you all her information tonight when I get it.”
“Okay,” he says. “She really has no idea how much money you make?” he questions, shocked.
“Even if she did, it’s up to me to make sure they have everything that they need.”
“She’s one of the good ones,” he finally says, and I nod my head. “Call me if you need anything.” He hangs up. I pull up to the little diner that my uncle Evan showed me once when we came to visit. He brought my aunt Zara here on a date, and they have the best burgers you will ever have.
Walking in, I take a seat at the counter and wait for the waitress to come over. I order two of everything on the menu. “Someone is hungry,” she says, and twenty minutes later, I’m walking out with three bags full of food. By the time I get to Jillian’s, the oil has seeped through the bags, my SUV smells like a drenched french fry.
She opens the door when my hand is mid-knock. Her hair is pinned on top of her head. “I was wondering if you were okay?” She lets me in, and I can smell the soap on her. She stands there in shorts and a sweater, her face free of makeup as she glows, looking at the food. “You were not kidding about greasy,” she says, grabbing one of the bags, and it’s like my tongue is stuck. “It smells so good,” she praises, walking over to the counter and getting on a stool. “Oh, did you want plates?”