Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 81535 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 408(@200wpm)___ 326(@250wpm)___ 272(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81535 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 408(@200wpm)___ 326(@250wpm)___ 272(@300wpm)
I’m relieved too. Not because I didn’t enjoy hearing their stories—they did succeed in distracting me from my heartache—but because I’m eager to see my grandparents and feel the warm Florida air on my skin.
The humidity here is murder on my curly hair, but it’ll feel amazing after that brutal snowstorm in New York.
Gramps is waiting for me inside the terminal, right by the shuttle exit, and I pick up my pace until I’m running toward him, the suitcase bouncing behind me. Though we frequently Skype, I haven’t seen him in person in a year, and my chest feels like it’ll burst from joy as I let go of the suitcase handle and tackle-hug him, grinning like a loon.
Despite nearing eighty, my grandfather is still sturdy, his shoulders unbowed and his chest thick with muscle. He also smells exactly as I remember—like Grandma’s cookies and starched linen. Pulling away, I study him, and I’m pleased to see that despite a few deeper wrinkles, he looks pretty much the same as last year.
He’s studying me right back, and I see the exact moment he notices my red-rimmed eyes.
“What happened?” he demands, his bushy eyebrows snapping together. “Were you crying?”
“No, of course not. Just got some lemon juice in my eyes,” I lie, grabbing the handle of my suitcase. “I was squeezing a slice into my water on the plane, and it squirted right into my face.”
“Lemon, huh?” Gramps takes the suitcase from me as we start walking to the exit. “I thought it might have something to do with that Wall Street boyfriend of yours.”
“What, Marcus? Oh no, it’s nothing like that. Besides, I told you, he’s not my boyfriend.”
He’s not my anything any longer, but I’m not going to delve into that now. Maybe later, once I’ve had a chance to settle in and have some of Grandma’s cookies, I’ll find the strength to crush my grandparents’ hopes, but right now, I’m too drained for that.
Besides, I’d rather break the bad news to both of them at once.
“Well, whatever he may be, we’re happy for you,” Gramps says. “Unless, of course, he’s the lemon in question.” He glances at me as we step on the escalator, and I force out a chuckle.
“Very funny, Gramps. How about you tell me how you and Grandma are doing?”
“Oh, same old, you know—which is old.” He winks at me, and my laugh is genuine this time. “How about you, princess? How was the flight? It looked like it was going to be on time, and then, bam, delay.”
“Oh, no. Were you already on the way to the airport when you learned about the delay?”
“I was, but don’t worry. I just circled around for a bit, listened to some audiobooks. Your grandmother was worried, though, so you might want to call her as soon as we get to the car. Did they say what the reason for the delay was? Was it because of the snowstorm?”
I shrug. “They didn’t say, but they probably had to de-ice the wings or something. I was lucky the plane took off at all.”
“That’s true. Your grandmother has been glued to the Weather Channel since Monday, tracking the damn storm. You’d think it was one of her Netflix shows.” He snorts, shaking his head, and I conceal a grin. Gramps watches Netflix right alongside Grandma, but for some reason, he keeps insisting they’re her shows and he’s not into them at all.
We continue chatting as we step out into the parking lot, and I learn that Gramps got a new fishing rod and Grandma’s already prepped most of the food for tomorrow. “It’s too bad your young man couldn’t make it,” Gramps comments when we get into the car, and my smile stiffens as I reiterate the excuse I gave them on Skype—that Marcus is crazy busy at work this week.
It’s true, actually—an investment gone bad is what stole him from my side on Sunday—but I didn’t know that on Saturday, when Marcus met my grandparents over Skype and they invited him to Florida for Thanksgiving. I just knew it was insane to bring him with me so early in the relationship, so I blurted out that excuse—and thank God I did.
If my grandparents had been expecting him to come with me, it would’ve been infinitely worse.
Once we pull out of the parking lot, I call my landlady, Mrs. Metz, to check on my cats. “All fed and snug on your bed,” she informs me cheerfully, and I thank her again for taking care of my fur babies while I’m gone.
Next, I call Grandma and assure her that my flight was fine and that I’m looking forward to seeing her soon. She describes all the dishes she’s making for tomorrow in drool-inducing detail, and by the time I hang up, I’m ready to eat my own foot.