Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 84930 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84930 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Their assistants have assistants. Their nannies have assistants.
I wouldn’t be surprised if some of these dudes hired someone to wipe their asses for them in the off-season.
I am not that guy. But I do occasionally need a hand executing the impossible, and today? It’s jewelry and ponies.
Sweat beads down my spine, soaking my tee shirt as I walk into my condo, flipping the light on and tossing my keys onto the kitchen countertop.
It’s dark outside, and both Kevin and my stomach let me know I’ve been gone far too long, both of them rumbling.
Food goes into Kevin’s steel bowl; food comes out of the fridge for me to eat.
There isn’t much; I’ve been traveling way too much, but I manage to scrounge up leftover pizza, leftover poke bowl, and a salmon filet I had Friday night before flying to California.
It should still be good, yeah?
I don’t bother sniffing it. My plan is to throw it all onto one plate, nuke it until it’s lava hot, then eat it as fast as I can and avoid having it touch my taste buds.
Kevin and I both eat our dinner and I fiddle around with my phone, staring at the last few text messages from Penelope. Her gifts were delivered earlier; I got confirmation from Maggie that they were dropped off at the house around four thirty and Penelope was indeed there to accept the packages.
Everything was gift wrapped.
According to Maggie, Penelope was as sweet as pie, both of my little ladies at home when the delivery woman stopped by, Skipper having done a happy jig on the front stoop when the delivery person had handed her a bag with her name on it. It wasn’t her birthday, why was she getting a present?!
I shovel a forkful of rice into my mouth as my phone rings—that weird ring that lets you know it’s not a regular phone call but a video call, and when I look down at it vibrating on my counter, I see Penelope’s face lighting up the screen.
Quickly I wipe my hands before hitting accept.
“Hey there!”
Her face fills the screen, smile beaming back at me. She holds up a bag; it’s not large but it’s that famous blue color with a large silky bow tying it closed.
“Jack Jennings, what is the meaning of this?”
“It’s a present. Nothing big.” I shrug it off, embarrassed. Shit, was the gift too much? Wait. “Have you even opened it yet? How can you yell at me when you don’t even know what’s inside?”
“I—”
“Are you talking to Jack, Mom? I want to see! Mom, I wanna talk to him!” I can hear her hopping up and down next to her mother, and the next thing I see is her cute little face, hair and head covered by a Rainbow Pony mane, hands stuffed into plush hooves.
“Wow, look at you!”
Skipper neighs like a horse. “This is the best costume I’ve ever had! Thank you, Jack, thank you!”
“Yeah—thank you,” Penelope deadpans. “You only have yourself to blame when she wears it in public and sounds like a horse instead of a little girl.”
I’ll live for that moment. “Can’t wait. I hope I get to see it in person soon. She looks amazing.”
Our daughter seems to have lost interest in our phone call already, galloping into the living room, going around in circles on the carpet, hooves poised in the air, round and around she goes.
Neighing, obviously.
“She was so excited to get a present she couldn’t wait to open it.”
“But you could?”
“I wanted to prolong the anticipation and draw it out.” She smiles shyly. “Not to make it weird, but I don’t get presents very often, so I wanted to make it last. And I wanted you to watch me open it, of course.”
“Alright. I’m waiting on pins and needles. Open it up.”
Penelope nods. She’s seated in the kitchen at the counter, bag resting in front of her still tied up neatly. The white bow is glossy under the overhead lights, and she takes each end between her fingers and gently tugs, loosening it. In an excruciatingly slow manner, she pulls it apart, letting it fall to the counter, then setting it off to the side.
Could she be going any slower?
This is torture.
Penelope pulls the bag open and peers inside before reaching in and taking hold of the small blue box nestled within. Her expression is one of excitement when she removes it, her mouth forming an O of surprise.
And delight.
It’s a square box, tied with another pretty ribbon, the entire process repeating itself until the box top is ready to be removed, Penelope’s hands shaking a bit from her eagerness.
Anyone else wouldn’t notice, but I do.
I wish I were there with my arms wrapped around her, kissing her neck as she unwrapped it. Whispering in her ear as Skipper danced around the house dressed like a goofy little lavender pony.