Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 57201 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 286(@200wpm)___ 229(@250wpm)___ 191(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 57201 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 286(@200wpm)___ 229(@250wpm)___ 191(@300wpm)
“Lennon wanted his favorite,” Mom says, forcing a smile on her face.
She doesn’t mean it, but her simple statement brings more pain. I have no idea what Lennon’s favorites are. Christ, my son is seven years old, and I don’t know what his favorite food is or what he watches on television. I don’t even know what he likes to do when he’s playing outside. I didn’t get to see him grow, learn to walk, say his first words…
I’m a stranger to him.
I force my legs to move as I walk toward them. It’s so damn hard that I don’t think I can explain it. My legs feel shaky. Hell, my knees threaten to buckle. Lennon might only be seven, but right now, he’s terrifying. I walk around the island. I’m being an asshole. I could walk close to Mom, but she would expect a hug or a kiss, and I’m barely holding on right now. She hurt me. They all hurt me. I ignore that small voice that reminds me that I did my share of hurting others. I know I did. The thing is, even when it hurt people I loved—even when it gutted me— I was at least honest.
And my honesty made my son a stranger…
“What are you making?” I ask Lennon directly, swallowing down the emotion in my voice.
“Boo-berry pancakes,” he says. His voice is soft—showing none of the exuberance I see from him when he’s with the rest of my family—but then, I’ve never encouraged him to be like that with me.
Shit, I’ve got a lot to make up for.
“Those are my favorite,” I tell him, leaning on the bar so Lennon is more at eye level. I don’t know if that’s the right thing to do or not. I’m just guessing here and I feel like I’m in way over my head.
“It is?” he asks, studying me.
I look at his eyes. I never realized it before. They’re brown like mine, but they have bits of green in them, too—like Katie’s.
A little bit of both of us…
“It is,” I answer, scuffing my hand against the stubble on my chin as I try to get control of my thoughts. “Especially if I have whipped cream.”
“We have some! Nanny always gets me some at the yellow store.”
“Yellow store?” I repeat, mostly asking Mom because I’m lost.
“Walmart,” she laughs. “He likes the bright yellow logo.”
“Yellow is my favorite color. Do you have a favorite color?”
“Well, I really like yellow, too.”
“You do?”
“Yep, I really do.”
“That’s neat. Nanny, did you hear that?”
“I did. I could have sworn Jake liked the color green,” Mom answers, sending me a smirk and knowing look.
“Green’s cool too. Dinosaurs are green,” I point out.
“I know. I love dinosaurs.”
“Me too!”
“I know a place where you can see dinosaurs move and even ride on the back of one.”
Lennon’s eyes go round. “For real?”
“Yep. I’ve been wanting to go, but I don’t want to go alone.”
“Dinosaurs can be scary,” Lennon reasons, sounding very adult.
“They can. I’ve been looking for a friend to go with me. Would you like to go with me sometime?”
His eyes grow large, and I can see on his face that he does. It feels like I’ve started winning a war. It's an exhilarating feeling. Then, with his next words, he completely takes the wind out of my sails.
“Can Mommy go?”
“Mommy?” I murmur, stalling as I try and figure out how to answer that. I don’t have experience with kids, but I’m thinking telling him that I hate his mother and don’t want to be around her would be the wrong move.
“She loves dinosaurs. She tries to act like a T-Rex and chase me through the house. She’s silly.”
Briefly, a picture of Katie running through the house acting like a dinosaur hits me, and I shake my head to clear it away. Having kids is something that Katie dreamed of. She was made for that life. I never was. I think that much is clear just by the struggle I’m having just trying to talk to Lennon.
“We can ask her,” I compromise, feeling pretty confident that Katie would rather die than to be in a vehicle with me.
“Yay! What about you Nanny?”
“Oh, don’t look at me. I’m scared of dinosaurs,” Mom laughs, taking the blueberries from him. “How about you go to the bathroom and wash your hands, and I’ll finish the pancakes?”
“Okay!” he says and practically jumps down from the barstool. She dumps the berries into the pancake batter and then stirs them in.
“You should check with Katie before inviting Lennon places, Jake. He needs time to get to know you better,” Mom murmurs.
“I’m not going to beg for time with Lennon. This is time I should have had years ago,” I grumble, resenting the fact that she thinks I must ask for permission to be with my son—especially since I’ve been robbed of seven years of his life already.