Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 114192 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 571(@200wpm)___ 457(@250wpm)___ 381(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114192 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 571(@200wpm)___ 457(@250wpm)___ 381(@300wpm)
Although that gets me another laugh, she asks another question, rather than answering. “When’s the last time you went?”
“It’s been a bit.”
“How long’s a bit?”
“Too long. I’ve been really busy. Probably two years now. And the last time was the only time that year.”
“And you’re sure you won’t crash?” Yet again she follows up with another question, but judging by her tone, I’m almost certain she’s going to say yes.
“Cross my heart, I won’t crash.”
With a shy smile and not an ounce of that tension she had when she first sat down, she agrees to another date. “All right then. Sailing sounds like it could be fun.”
My grin is genuine and inwardly I pump my fist in the air. It’s a win. Another chance to show her who I am and find out more about this girl, the enigma that she is.
The rest of the night is just as relaxed. It’s almost like two friends who lost touch catching up. Although the small touches and the way she blushes certainly aren’t reserved for friendship. There’s a desire, a sense of want, and I feel it too. Just like the first time I met her.
The only thing I’d change if I could would be the way she dodged the goodnight kiss. Instead she left me hanging with a feminine chuckle before telling me she’d see me Sunday for sailing, reminding me that I’m not allowed to crash.
MAGNOLIA
“I’m not allowed to have the Green Tea from Morgan’s anymore.” As I mumble into my phone, I roll over on my bed so I can watch Bridget stack the blocks. She’s been up since 5:00 a.m. and won’t go back to sleep.
Her curls bounce as she plays and she’s quiet and happy. It is what it is. Today I’m a tired mama.
“Oh, don’t blame the alcohol.”
“It’s absolutely the alcohol’s fault.” My words are a grumble and they fall flat. As flat as an open soda can left out overnight.
“Come on,” Renee says, trying to coax me, her chipper positive side coming out against all my doom and gloom. “We talked about this. You weren’t going to tell him. We decided that.”
“No,” I say, correcting her. “I decided I was going to tell him. Whether or not you want to ignore those texts I sent is on you. I was supposed to tell him. Come clean and make sure he knew.” It couldn’t wait for appetizers. But then again, apparently it could.
There’s a featherlight weight constantly fluttering in my chest. It hasn’t stopped and it gets in the way of my heart beating right. Worse than that, it hurts. I can’t stop staring at my daughter, knowing what she didn’t have. But also what Brody didn’t have. And I’m keeping it from him.
“First off, it’s been one date. Don’t be so hard on yourself. A PG date is hardly a time to drop a bombshell.” I roll my eyes at her “PG” comment and pick at the comforter. The last thing I wanted to do was lead him on. PG was the best I had to offer him.
“I’ve seen him three times now. The initial bumblefrick of a meet. At the gallery and then for two hours on a date.” There’s no excuse. The last statement goes unsaid because it’s stuck at the back of my throat as the guilt strangles me.
“You will tell him,” Renee insists and I nod at the ceiling in agreement. “You have every intention to … when the time is right.” I find myself nodding along with her.
Stretching my back, I take my time to sit cross-legged on my bed, balancing the phone between my ear and shoulder. The creak of the bed with my shifting weight gets Bridget’s attention. “Mommy tired,” my three-year-old tells the baby doll she’s propped up in front of my nightstand. Lifting the doll she aptly named “Dolly,” Bridget shakes the doll slightly as she commands me, “Go bed, Mommy. Is nap time.”
A soft chuckle leaves me and all the weight of the date two nights ago seems to dissipate.
As Bridget returns to stacking blocks, Renee lists all the reasons I don’t have to tell him anything. Including the fact that he could be a serial killer and that Bridgey doesn’t need that in her life. I don’t think my eyes could roll any harder. Without giving her a response, I take in what Bridget’s building on the floor next to the bed. I think it’s a castle.
“You’re going to be a little engineer, aren’t you?” Renee hears me on the other end of the phone and asks if she’s playing with the blocks again. “Mm-hmm.”
“The Lego kind or the wooden ones?” I know she’s asking because she got her the wooden ones and Robert got her the baby Legos. That constant lightweight feeling in my chest grows heavier at the reminder of Robert and how he fits into all of this. He knew there was a chance the baby was his and that was reason enough to help me back then. Even though I told him I’d been with someone else.