Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 86574 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86574 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
And also? Mama needed a breather. I mainly had a babysitter for when I worked, so taking an hour for myself was like a dream at this point. So when Charles had offered, I caved, though I didn’t venture very far. I ran to the drugstore down the street to take my time shopping for toiletries, then stopped at a café around the corner. I’d be close by if Charles needed me to come back.
As I sipped my coffee in a cozy corner seat, I scrolled through my phone and did something I probably shouldn’t have. The gaming app Deacon’s company created had been installed on my phone for some time. It felt like my only connection to him. From time to time, I’d look to see what new games had been created, knowing he’d had a hand in designing them. Sometimes I’d play them. Yes, I know that’s pathetic. But it felt like a safe way to remember Deacon without having to actually interact with him.
As I flipped through the character choices in the new game, something stopped me in my tracks. One of the main characters looked different—yet markedly familiar to me. She was beautiful, just like my Sunny, and looked as if she had Down syndrome. Her name was Autumn.
I didn’t know how long ago Deacon had designed her, before our breakup or after, but this discovery made my heart feel heavier than it had in a while.
* * *
A few nights later, Sharon arrived to babysit. Sick to my stomach from nerves, I’d just gotten dressed and ready to venture out on my first official date since getting my heart broken. I’d decided to accept a casual dinner invitation from a guy I’d met online. If I didn’t push myself to move on from Deacon, I never would. Maybe at some point it would feel natural and not forced, but it certainly didn’t yet. Fake it till you make it.
“You look gorgeous, Carys,” Sharon told me. “Are you meeting this guy somewhere safe?”
“Yeah. Of course. Taking an Uber to the restaurant and Ubering straight home.”
“Good.” She smiled. “Don’t worry about Sunny and me. You have a good time.”
At almost two, Sunny was starting to say more words, pointing to things a lot and saying “that.” A new speech therapist came to the house twice a week to work with her on language, and I did my best to repeat the words I believed she was trying to say whenever the opportunity presented itself. Sunny and I had also learned sign language to help her communicate until she was able to sound out more words.
“Mama will be back, okay?”
My girl reached her arms out to me and started to cry. “No, Mama.”
She’d become more attached to me than ever lately, maybe the result of the greater awareness that came with growing into a toddler.
Guilt followed me out the door as I made my way into the car waiting outside. During the ride, I looked out the window, which was covered in raindrops. A sadness that seemed to match the dreary weather came over me. I should’ve been happy about going on this date. But I missed Deacon, longed to be in his arms, and knew that would never happen again. Grief definitely comes in waves, and mine always seem to hit at the most inopportune times.
Once at the restaurant, I discovered that my date, Peter, had secured a candlelit table in the corner.
He stood as I approached, and his eyes went wide. “Carys, you’re even more beautiful in person.” He practically drooled. “Wow.”
“Thank you.”
Peter was handsome—not drop-dead gorgeous like Deacon, but attractive enough. Enough. Would that be the story of my life now? Attractive enough. Good enough. At this point, if you were decent looking and a decent person, you had a shot with me. Because that meant you were a safe distraction, something I’d desperately needed since Deacon walked out of my life.
I knew from our online interactions that Peter worked with kids who had special needs, but I hadn’t realized until our conversation got going tonight that some of his students had Down syndrome. What were the chances? That left us with no lack of things to talk about during dinner. I picked his brain throughout our meal—so much so that I almost felt sorry for the guy.
“If you ever want to come visit the classroom and see some of the things we do, I’d be happy to be your tour guide,” he said. “Actually, even better, I can take you down to the integrated preschool. That’s not my classroom, but you could take a look at some of the ways Sunny might be learning when she eventually starts school.”
“You know what? I may just take you up on that. The preschool years aren’t too far away, and I should start thinking about my options.”