Total pages in book: 131
Estimated words: 126818 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 634(@200wpm)___ 507(@250wpm)___ 423(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126818 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 634(@200wpm)___ 507(@250wpm)___ 423(@300wpm)
The differences between Tree and Tinder were staggering.
Tree was talkative, animated, and naturally curious. Tinder stuttered, and his left eye twitched frequently. His jerky movements and low-hanging head told me he was extremely insecure. He also chewed on the collar of his shirt until a pool of saliva formed around it.
“Moooooom.” Tree narrowed his eyes at his brother. “Tinder ruined his shirt.”
“Jesus Christ, Tin, again? You’re really something, aren’t you.” Joelle darted from the table, advancing toward us.
She grabbed Tinder by the shoulder. I put my hand on hers, stopping her.
“Please don’t,” I said. “It’s totally natural. I have a few kids in class who do it, too.”
“He goes through dozens of shirts a week!” she burst, her lower lip trembling.
“Let him,” I whispered under my breath. “If it’s his way of coping with stress, making a fuss would only escalate the issue.”
We held each other’s gazes for a second. Luckily, the oven dinged, signaling it had reached our desired temperature.
“Excuse me.” I grabbed the trays.
I sent the children to wash their hands again, asking them to sing the songs we’d made up together from the top of their lungs while I tidied up the kitchen. That gave Joelle and me a few minutes alone.
“Joelle,” I started cautiously. I didn’t know how much time I was going to have with this family, but I knew they needed me. “Tinder is—”
“I know,” she cut me off, fidgeting with her necklace. “His therapist said it is too early for an official diagnosis. We are monitoring him closely, but I feel completely in the dark as to what his condition entails.”
“Criticizing him won’t help.” I put my hand on her arm. “Every child is different in personality, progress, and needs. French is the very last thing these kids need. Tinder, especially, needs a lot of love, and affection, and attention. He needs to know you love him unconditionally. If you’re confused, think about what he is going through. He is starting to realize he is different.”
Her shoulders sagged with a deep sigh. By the exhausted look on her face, I could tell she’d been wanting to talk about this with someone for a long time.
“I’m at a loss. My family produced happy-go-lucky kids. We don’t have a history of anything outside the norm. Tree reminds me so much of my brothers and me when we were little. Independent and athletic. While Tinder is—”
“Other great things. And not even a pinch less treasured than his brother,” I completed for her curtly. “Different kids require different sets of rules and techniques. You were blessed with two healthy children. That’s more than so many women dare to dream of.”
Me, for example.
I hadn’t told Kill but getting my period despite having unprotected sex with him for a couple of months unraveled me from the inside.
It shouldn’t have. Two months meant nothing in the grand scheme of things.
I read somewhere that it takes between eight to eleven months for the average couple to get pregnant if they actively try. But other couples weren’t on a deadline. I knew if I failed to give him heirs, Cillian would get them elsewhere.
The thought made me want to throw up.
“You’re right.” Joelle straightened her spine. “You’re so right. I need to stop this self-pity. Tinder’s a great kid, you know? A little behind on the letters and numbers, but he can paint like nobody’s business. And he is so imaginative!”
The light in her eyes was back, and that was when I realized I’d never seen it on in the first place.
“Tell you what. I’m about to read them a few stories while the cookies bake. Why don’t you stick around? Spend some time with us?”
“You think it’s a good idea?” She seemed uncertain. “They don’t seem to like me all that much.”
“You’re their mother.” I snorted. “They’re bound to adore you unconditionally.”
“I come from a family where parenting is done by others. I’m not very good with kids,” Joelle admitted hoarsely.
“You’re better than you think you are,” I assured her.
“How do you know?”
“Because you made them.”
We spent the rest of the afternoon together. By the time I got out of the Arrowsmiths’ house, I knew I was in deep trouble.
As much as I hated Andrew Arrowsmith for what he did—and was still doing—to my husband, I couldn’t help but like his family.
Ultimately, I was going to hurt them.
For now, I tried to heal them.
Three months had passed since Persephone moved in.
Three months of irritating daily dinners, text messages full of pointless cloud pictures, and an unholy amount of sex.
Physically, I’d never been this satisfied in my life. Mentally, my disposition and ideologies shriveled into themselves and shut the windows every time I stepped into my house.
If Flower Girl thought we were making progress on our way to marital bliss, she had another thing coming.