Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 79433 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79433 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
I glanced toward the dining room and smiled. I loved seeing so many people seated to eat. But when I looked back at my parents, I felt my smile slipping away.
They both looked so tired. They’d opened the Seaside Grill almost thirty-five years ago. I could count on one hand how many times they’d closed the restaurant for a family vacation. A few times when I was younger, they’d gone somewhere for a week and had left the place in the capable hands of my mother’s sister or Ruby. When Aunt Mary decided to move to New York City to open her own restaurant, Mom and Dad stopped taking vacations. At least not long ones. They wouldn’t even come visit me in Boston. Their excuse was that they were always too busy to leave the restaurant.
There had been times I’d hated it here growing up, because it took my parents away from me. I knew Sutton, Palmer, and Braxton all felt the same way. But at least they’d never missed any of our school stuff. Plays, parties, any sort of events—they’d always made sure that at least one of them was there. But we could never take vacations to Disney World or any place like that. There was never enough time. They’d tried, I had to give them credit for that. But the restaurant was their life.
I made a mental note to talk to my siblings about Mom and Dad hiring additional people as well as seeing if they would take a vacation. I also wanted to ask them if they needed extra help while I wasn’t working yet.
“I’m glad they’re working out,” I said as I faced them again. They were both back to doing what they had been before I’d interrupted: Mom with her hands in dough, and Dad flipping the burger.
“Okay, well, I guess I’ll take off. I won’t be there tonight when you guys get home. Do you want me to bring anything back for dinner later?”
Walking over to my mother, I kissed her on the cheek. “No need. We’ll eat here.”
I nodded, drew in a breath, and then headed toward the back door. “I love you guys.”
“Love you too,” they replied in unison.
Palmer and I took a step back and surveyed my new room.
“It looks so cozy,” I said with a smile.
I’d been pleasantly surprised by how large the extra bedroom was in Palmer’s house. Her home had once been a carriage house, owned by one of the more prominent citizens of Seaside who’d helmed a successful shipping fleet. The previous owners had remodeled it and made it into a two-bedroom house that sat on almost an acre of land with a view of the waterfront. Palmer even had a private path down to the beach. The main house was up the driveway some, and Palmer did have to share the drive, but that didn’t bother her at all. They always kept it plowed in the winter, and that alone was worth sharing, according to Palmer.
My new room was painted a baby blue and filled with off-white beachy furniture that Palmer had picked up at a garage sale last summer. I could tell my sister was a Target whore because nearly everything in her house came from the place. Including my new bedding and towels.
“If you don’t like anything, you can change it.”
I turned toward my baby sister. She was wearing jean-shorts overalls, a yellow T-shirt that said I Scoop Poop, and her hair was pulled up in two pigtails. She looked adorable, especially since she’d come home from doing exactly what her T-shirt proclaimed. Scooping up poop.
“Are you kidding? I love all of it, Palmer,” I said. “Your house is so cute.”
Just then, a petite black-and-white cat jumped up on my bed, turned three times, and lay down on the blanket at the bottom.
“Whiskey, that’s not your bed.”
I laughed and shook my head. “She’s fine.”
“He. My gosh, Addie, how many times do I have to tell you the cat is a he?”
Holding up my hands in defense, I said, “I’m sorry! He is okay. I love cats and don’t mind him being in here at all.”
Palmer snickered. “Wait until his cat hair gets on your clothes. Then you’ll care.” She suddenly gasped. “Shit, I need to go to the Walters’ to take their dog out for a walk. Will you be home for dinner tonight?”
“Yep. Gannon’s working, and we didn’t plan on dinner tonight. So, unless he’s able to join, it’ll only be us.”
“I was planning on making some homemade pizzas. You still like the same toppings?”
A memory of me and my three siblings, all standing on chairs around the kitchen island as Mom let us make our pizzas, hit me hard. It was one of my favorite memories, and it was on that day that I decided I liked pineapple as a topping after Palmer had accidentally put it on my pizza. Palmer and I still ate our pizza the same way, or at least I was pretty sure we did.