Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 95173 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95173 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
“Want to work outside?” she asks, and I look out and see that it’s another sunny day. “We might have to come inside, though, because the wind is picking up.”
“Yeah, that sounds good,” I say as I walk upstairs and go to my room. Closing the door behind me, I see the bedding on the floor and the sheet lying to the side. I walk to the bed and can still see where she held the sheets in her hands. I walk to the closet, and slipping off the robe, I hang it up and then grab boxers and a pair of khaki slacks with a white linen button-down shirt. Grabbing my phone, I open my texts and send her one.
Me: Let me know if you made it home.
I see the three dots come up.
Vivienne: Home and going to bed.
I smile, and then I call Amanda, and she answers on the first ring. “Are you sending flowers today?”
I chuckle. “Not exactly but I was wondering if you could help me.”
“You know I say this with much love, but you’re the biggest pain in my ass,” she says, and I hear her take a sip. “What now?”
“I was wondering if you can maybe get a fish or a little aquarium,” I tell her.
“A fish?” she asks. ““Like in a bowl or with a huge machine?”
“I have no idea,” I tell her. “What do you suggest?”
“Flowers,” she says right away. “Always flowers.”
“Besides that, smartass.” I laugh and walk back downstairs.
“I have no idea. Let me google and I’ll text you. I’m assuming you want this delivered to the same person?”
“Yes,” I tell her, walking to the outside door. “Let me know what you do, and I’ll send you something for the card.”
“Oh, how about ‘do you want to hook up’,” Amanda says, laughing, and I smile, shaking my head. “You get it, right?”
“I do, and I’ll get back to you,” I tell her and then disconnect, seeing Tracy walk back inside. “What happened?”
“It’s too windy. I just chased the same paper five times,” she says, carrying everything in her hands to my office. “Go eat while I set up.” I walk to the kitchen, opening my container with my name on it and grabbing a fork. I eat standing up while I check my emails and a message from Amanda comes through.
Amanda: I got her a betta fish in a big bowl with different colored plants from a friend of mine. What do you want on the card?
Me: Under the Sea
Amanda: That’s it? Nothing swoony or panty melting?
Me: Nope. Just under the sea.
Amanda: Boring but you are the boss. I’ll bill you.
Me: Perfect.
I finish my meal and walk to the office with a water bottle. “Let’s get started,” I say as I sit behind my desk and open my schedule. Five hours later, I close my schedule. “With hockey and the new stores, it’s going to be a crazy six months.”
“I think in the next six months, you only have Christmas off,” Tracy says, laughing. “And that’s just because things are closed that day.”
“Let’s hope nothing changes,” I say, and she grabs her stuff.
“Your dinner will be delivered soon,” she says with a nod and walks out. I finally have time to check my phone.
There is a picture from Amanda sent at noon of the fishbowl. Rocks and a starfish cover the bottom, and then there are blue, pink, purple, and white plants scattered all around the bowl, and in the middle, is the purple and white betta fish.
Amanda: The fish has been delivered.
I smile and then walk to the kitchen, grabbing another bottle of water. I’m about to call Vivienne when the phone rings, and I see it’s my father.
“Markos,” he says the minute I press speakerphone.
“Hey, Dad.” I grab the phone and walk outside to get some fresh air. The wind has definitely picked up, and it looks like it’s going to rain. “How are you doing?”
“I’m okay.” He exhales. “I spent the day picking tomatoes for your mother.”
“It’s that time again.” I sit down and think about the summers when my mother would round us up and make us pick tomatoes. Then she would spend the next week making homemade sauce with her cousins. I always remember that as a time for us to get together with our cousins. It’s a memory that always makes me smile.
“Yes, your mother is already washing the canning jars,” he says. “You know she’ll send you some.”
“I still have some from last year,” I tell him, thinking of the jars in my pantry. I open them only on Sunday. Another tradition that I get from my mother—pasta Sunday. Every single Sunday, we would go over to my nonna’s house and have lunch. All of us would gather around the two tables while she made meatballs, sausage, and braciole stuffed with prosciutto and cheese. As the family kept getting bigger and bigger, the tables stayed the same, but we just didn’t have as much room. When Nonna passed away, my mother took over the tradition, so every Sunday, the smell of sauce would linger in the house starting at six a.m.