Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 124320 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 622(@200wpm)___ 497(@250wpm)___ 414(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 124320 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 622(@200wpm)___ 497(@250wpm)___ 414(@300wpm)
She’s right. Daddy would have whipped Keith into campaign shape by now and had him on someone else’s ballot years ago with his own run as the end game. I should have seen that. Should have done that. Kayla runs our family foundation, but I inherited Daddy’s strategic mind. Who will I have to pass it on to?
“Um, Mama,” I venture, poking the remnants of my cantaloupe with a fork. “Can I ask you something?”
Mama nods, not looking up from her newspaper that is still delivered to our front door every morning. It’s been so long since I saw the news in ink on paper, it feels like she’s holding an artifact.
“Do you know if we have a history, on either side, of early menopause?”
Mama’s brows bend and dip. She shakes her head. “Not that I know of. Why do you…” She drops her paper to the table and her wide eyes snap to mine. “The doctor. Is that why you were seeing the doctor that day?”
Way to connect the dots.
“I’m in perimenopause, yeah.”
“But you…you’re not even forty.” Mama slams a hand on the table. “Pesticides.”
“Um...huh?”
“It’s those pesticides and those GMAs and—”
“I think you mean GMOs.”
“Yes.” Mama points her fork at me. “Them. And steroids. All in our food, in our water.”
“You’re not wrong, but are you sure there’s no family history?”
“No one I remember. Girl, my mother still had pads under the sink at sixty.”
Between a grandmother still menstruating into her twilight years and a sister who has birthed five children from her actual body, I’m feeling reproductively inadequate to say the least.
“So what does this mean for children?” Mama asks, frowning. “You can still have them, right? You’re so young.”
“I haven’t had a period in four months. Without one of those, no kids. So I’m working with a homeopath to at least get that back, and then I can decide.”
“Decide? Well, how much time do you have to decide?”
“Year and a half. Maybe two.” My shrug is more careless than I am. “I can’t just reproduce on demand. If and when I can get my period on track, I need someone to reproduce with, and I have no prospects. And I’m not sure I want to drop everything to have kids right now. If this window closes and I want kids later, lots of babies are up for adoption and need homes. I don’t need a sperm donor for that.”
“I know you’ve never felt pressure to have kids,” Mama says. “Or to get married, for that matter, but I think you’d make a wonderful mother, if it means anything to you.”
“That does mean something, and thank you, Mama.”
“You keep doing what the doctor says and we’ll get through this.”
The weight that’s been heavy on my shoulders since Dr. Granden first uttered the word “perimenopause” feels that much lighter with every person I share it with.
First Kayla. Then Mona. Now Mama.
I’m beginning to think I should have come home a long time ago.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Ezra
“I love them!” Noah says, grinning at the tickets Aiko left for him.
“You do, honey?” she asks, her expression concerned on the Skype screen. “They’re passes we can use whenever. We’ve been to the aquarium so often, I thought a trip to Nashville for the planetarium might be fun. And I know you’re really into the stars right now.”
“It’s great,” he assures her. “And the other things were awesome, too.”
Aiko asked me to take a bag full of birthday gifts she’d left to his bedroom first thing this morning.
“I wish I was there.” She blinks hard, and I can tell she’s trying not to cry. She doesn’t want Noah to know. “But so many people are coming to your party today.”
“Yeah, and we’ll jump on the trampoline,” Noah says. “You should see it, Mom. It’s the kind with a net.”
“Your mom actually helped pick it out,” I interject. “She wanted to make sure she saw it before she had to leave.”
“You did?” Noah asks.
“Yup.” Aiko shoots me a grateful look. “Sure did. I wanted this to be the best birthday ever even though I’m not there.”
“And four of the guys from school are sleeping over,” Noah rolls on. “Dad says he’ll make stuffed French toast for breakfast.” He looks at me like I may have forgotten.
“Sure.” I nod. “Tomorrow’s breakfast will be lit.”
“Dad,” Noah groans, obviously embarrassed by my hipness. “Don’t say lit, okay?”
“Got it.”
My phone buzzes on the kitchen counter by the laptop. It’s my mother calling through FaceTime.
“Bubbe!” Noah squeaks. He glances at Aiko uncertainly.
“Oh, baby, answer,” Aiko tells him. “I’ve kept you long enough. Go talk to your grandmother. I love you.”
“Love you, Mom. See you when you get back.” He grabs my phone. “Dad, can I take it outside to show her my trampoline?”
“Sure, but bring it back to me before you hang up,” I tell him. “I need to talk to her about you flying up there for camp.”