Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 107453 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 537(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107453 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 537(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
It’s a good view for my parents’ therapy practice patients, too, and that’s why I bought it for them. Also, they’d never have bought it themselves, and they deserve it.
I turn off the car and get out, bringing the chocolate with me so it doesn’t melt, then gently rap my knuckles against the sign that reads Ryland and Ryland Counseling Services. Their practice is downstairs, and their home upstairs. It’s a Sunday, though, so the shop is closed today. Dad’s out with his kayak club. I don’t have much time before I need to head to the airfield, but I was compelled to stop by. Some kind of antsy feeling was driving me on.
I bound up the steps to the home level, where a cacophony of barks greets my knock. It’s like dogageddon in there, and the familiar sound is the first thing to truly soothe some of the knots I’ve been carrying in my shoulders.
“Coming, coming,” my mom shouts over the noise inside. When she opens the door a few inches, I glimpse her directing stern words over her shoulder. “Lulu, be quiet. It’s your brother.”
A different dog yaps.
“You too, Virgil. Yes, I know he’s your little brother. Now, both of you be quiet.”
I smile in amused admiration when they shut up. Mom swings open the door the rest of the way. The little assholes are sitting primly at her feet like they weren’t losing their Chihuahua minds a moment ago. Lulu’s tail is a blur. Virgil’s thumps hard.
My mom’s hair is slicked back in a long ponytail. She wears glasses and trendy-looking dark blue yoga gear.
“Say hi to Devon now,” she tells the pups.
Lulu hops up and down, whimpering in excitement. After I set the chocolate down on a high table, I bend and scoop up the little brown and tan critter. She licks my face. I breathe easily. Maybe this is what I needed?
“She missed you,” Mom says, then urges me inside, shutting the door.
The black-and-white boy circles me, yapping again.
“Give some attention to your big brother,” Mom chides.
“Mom, I am older than the dog.” I pick him up, too, scratching his head.
“You were once, and then you weren’t. It happens, sweetheart. It’s called dog years,” she says.
After I give them their necessary affection, I set each pup down, then head into the kitchen, passing the big-screen TV on the wall. It’s paused on a yoga video. Mom gets to work making tea because it’s always teatime for her. “Want some?”
“Nope. I just wanted to say hi before I head out of town.” Yeah, I’m twenty-nine and still tell my parents when I leave for a trip. I’m that guy. But I—gasp!—like my parents. They’re cool people.
She tilts her head as she scoops tea leaves into a pot. “Yes. Details. I’ve been dying to know since yesterday. Where are you going?”
As I stand at the counter, I give her the short version of what went down after we left the church.
Her jaw is agape. “Wow. All Garrett said was that the groom had taken off, but he was grateful to everyone for coming. Aiden’s an even bigger asshole than I’d thought,” she says as she hits stop on the kettle.
“Mom, I hope you don’t use that language with your clients,” I chide.
“Nope. Just my children,” she says, then pours the hot water over the tea.
I drum my fingers on the counter, energy coursing through me, but a dose of tension too. “Anyway, so we’re taking off. Just wanted you to know in case you can’t reach me for, I dunno, a few hours.”
“Devon, you say that like I’m not used to you being unreachable during eighty-two hockey games a year.”
“You know what I mean.”
Her gentle smile says she does. We like to keep in touch. Always have. I still have a group chat with my mom, dad, and big sister, who lives in London with her husband. But Lucy sends us pictures of her meals every day. Earlier today, she had falafels for lunch in Chelsea before shopping for a new tofu press.
“Yes, send me your GPS location,” Mom jokes. Then her mood shifts and she sighs thoughtfully, drumming her fingers on the counter. “So…Aubrey?”
“Mom,” I chide.
She stares at me over the top of her rose-gold frames. “Well, she is single now.”
Like I’m not already thinking of Aubrey in that dangerous way. “Stop, Mom. Just stop.” I don’t need her fanning the flames. I can do that just fine on my own.
Mom lifts a steaming mug. “She’s feisty, outgoing, funny. Sounds like someone I know. Someone I raised.”
“She was literally about to walk down the aisle yesterday.”
“And now she’s literally about to take a trip with you and Ledger,” she points out.
“Don’t go there.” I can’t, just can’t, linger in that space, for all the reasons Ledger and I laid out last night, starting and ending with the fact that she nearly got married yesterday. The timing is more than wrong.