Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 92779 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92779 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Except in this scenario, the territory is my heart. And I need to defend it against Dalton, because if Hope is right, I’m so screwed. And not in the good way.
She bites her lip, looking like she’s trying to decide on saying more.
“What?”
“I’m pretty sure he likes you too.”
Before I can refute that ridiculous assumption, she sashays back into the kitchen, whistling to herself.
Mom and Dad have been tag-teaming making our Thanksgiving feast for years and have it down to a science, virtually dancing around the kitchen to get everything to the table. In years past, we were assigned duties, but now, after having watched them so many times, we can step into the choreography and actually help. Before long, we’re sitting around a table piled high with a variety of options.
I make a plate as we pass hot dishes around, but when my fork is poised to take my first bite, I have an overwhelming urge to take a picture and send it to Dalton the way he sent me his holiday plate. Angry at the errant thought, I stab my fork into the cranberry sauce and smear it on a bite of turkey, ruining any photo-worthy ideas I might’ve had.
“It’s delicious,” Shep tells Mom and Dad around a mouthful of both mashed and sweet potatoes.
Mom smiles her appreciation, and somehow we manage to stuff our faces and catch up all at the same time.
Hope and Ben are prepping for another tour, but not till later next year, which Mom supports wholeheartedly, but she also asks if there’s going to be a bassinet on the tour bus anytime soon. “Mooom, no!” Hope screeches.
Ben laughs, but also says, “Not unless the universe plays a joke on us. We’ve got time.” He takes Hope’s hand, holding it on the table between them and making goo-goo eyes that’d probably be enough to get my sister pregnant, except I know she’s on birth control.
But Ben’s right. They’ve got plenty of time. Hope and I are only twenty-five, for fuck’s sake. At least she’s happily married. I’m still running away from even the possibility of a potentially more-than-casual, semifriendly situation.
Shepherd holds his hands up, already arguing with Mom before she says one word to him. “Don’t look at me. I remember what Dad told me when I was younger—don’t stick your dick in crazy. I took that to heart and am as careful as a fat zebra on the banks of a river full of hungry alligators. They’re not getting me.” He pats his chest, looking aghast at the thought.
“Time enough for women and babies after you get drafted, so be the zebra. Bring your own condoms, don’t trust hers,” Dad tells Shepherd, still praying for the dream and reinforcing his earlier advice.
Mom rolls her eyes at Dad’s crudeness, but then glances at me. She hrrmphs and drops her gaze to her plate.
“Yeah, thanks for the vote of confidence, Mom,” I huff. “Guess I’ll go live, laugh, toaster bath myself given that look of disappointment.” I don’t know why I’m arguing with her. I’m not ready for kids, don’t even know if I want them, but the fact that she so quickly dismissed the very idea where I’m concerned is a cut I wasn’t expecting.
“Oh, Joy,” Mom tuts. “I know you’re focused on your career right now and doing amazing things with it. You’re doing exactly what you’ve always said you would, and I’m so proud of you.” She peers at me earnestly, making sure she’s smoothed things over well enough. Given I’m not really mad at her, I take the compliment. “And same to you, Shep. The only reason I asked Hope is because she used to talk about babies. That’s all.”
“Lorie saw her friend Joanne at the grocery store this week and they got to chatting. Joanne’s got a houseful today,” Dad fills us in as if Mom can’t hear him talking about her. Then, to Mom, he asks, “What is it, six grandkids?”
“Eight. Plus Joanne thinks they’ll have a baby announcement today too. That’ll make nine.”
“Whoa,” Dad says, looking equal parts horrified and excited. “That’s a lotta pitter-patters. And a lot of dirty diapers.”
Maybe they’re not as solidly in the empty nest syndrome as we thought? Admittedly, Mom and Dad will be amazing grandparents, the same way they were, and are, great parents. But it won’t be me that gives them that promotion to grand. Or at least, not any time soon.
“You never know . . . it might be Shepherd who has the first grandchild,” Hope offers. And then in a totally innocent voice, she suggests, “Or even Joy. She could meet someone special, fall in love, and start popping ’em out like tennis balls in one of those launcher things. Pop . . . pop . . . pop . . . pop.”