Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 94687 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94687 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
I nodded and gave her the grin. “It’s about time.”
Fourteen
April
The morning meeting with my sisters was moved at the last minute to Frannie’s house, because one of the girls was sick and home from school.
We sat around Mack and Frannie’s dining room table drinking coffee and finalizing the details for the party.
“How many R.S.V.P. yeses did we end up with?” Meg asked.
“Two hundred thirty-eight,” I answered, double-checking the count on my laptop. “Almost everyone invited is coming.”
“Do you think we need a seating chart?” asked Sylvia.
I tilted my head this way and that. “I mean, we could—it is a lot of people. But I feel like we could get away without one too.”
“Let’s just let everyone sit where they want to,” said Chloe. “Seating charts are a pain to make.”
We all agreed, and moved on to the final menu, the wine list, and the timing of the evening. “Invites said cocktails at six, so I think we’re safe with formal toast at seven, followed immediately by dinner, then dancing and dessert,” I said.
“Sounds good to me,” said Frannie.
“You’re the expert,” said Meg.
“So who wants to make the toast?” I looked around the table, and they all went silent.
“Syl?” Frannie said finally. “You’re the oldest. Want to do it?”
Sylvia shook her head. “Last time I gave a public speech, I got drunk, stole a mic from Santa, used the word ‘asshole’ in front of children and elves, then dropped the mic before leaving the floor. You do not want me giving that toast.”
“I’m not doing it either,” Meg said.
“Not it.” Chloe put a finger on her nose.
“Not it.” Frannie did the same.
I sighed. “You guys. Really?”
“Come on, April, you’re a natural at this stuff,” Meg said. “You’ve got a degree in PR and you’re definitely the most polished.”
“What?” I gestured to Sylvia. “Before Breakfast with Santagate, Sylvia was the definition of polished!”
“But I’m pregnant now,” Sylvia said. “Don’t make me get up in front of two hundred people in a maternity dress. That’s just cruel.”
I rolled my eyes. “Okay, fine. I’ll do it. But you guys have to help me think of what to say.”
“It’ll be easy.” Chloe reached over and patted my arm. “Just say some sentimental shit about family.”
“Make some jokes,” suggested Frannie.
“Yes—be funny. People like that.” Meg nodded.
“Just don’t be boring,” Sylvia put in. “Or too wordy.”
I rolled my eyes. “Gee, thanks, you guys. That’s really helpful.”
Frannie laughed. “You’ll figure it out. I have faith.”
We finished up, and Meg left in a hurry for a ten o’clock arbitration. Chloe took off shortly after for Cloverleigh, and Sylvia said she had to cover a volunteer shift at the middle school clinic, so eventually it was just Frannie and me at the table.
“So?” she said, lifting her coffee cup to her lips. “How was the rest of your weekend?”
“Good,” I said, reaching for a sliced strawberry out of the fruit salad bowl. It reminded me of the breakfast Tyler had made for me yesterday. “Sexy.”
“More, please.”
“Tyler came home with me Saturday night and stayed over. The next morning my bra was hanging from the chandelier.”
Her eyebrows rose. “Do go on.”
I laughed. “There’s not much else to say. We had a lot of good sex. He made pancakes for me. We hung out all the next day. I made him take a bubble bath and talk about his feelings.”
She nearly choked on her coffee. “You did?”
“Yes. Also . . .” I reached for another strawberry. “He’s not leaving.”
A pause. A smile. “What?”
“He decided not to fly home yesterday. He wants to stay longer.”
“How much longer?”
“Maybe a week.”
“Why?”
I shrugged. “He ran into his old coach at Coffee Darling when we were there. The coach asked him to stick around and help out this pitcher who’s struggling with his motion a little bit.”
Frannie sat back and folded her arms. “Right. And I suppose it had nothing to do with the way he can’t stop staring at you across a room?”
“I’m not saying I had nothing to do with it. But I think it’s a combination of things. He really does miss baseball, and I think coaching this young pitcher might be a good re-entry into the game. What happened to his career really messed him up—to the point where he started to hate baseball.”
Frannie sighed. “We sort of tiptoed around it Saturday night. Mostly he and Mack talked about their old high school team, and the two of them just lit up remembering how awesome they were. They were like two peacocks strutting around the table.”
I laughed. “Yeah, they were a pretty awesome team. But for Tyler, he thought that was a forever thing. In his mind, it was the only thing he was good at, it was what he was meant to do with his life, and he staked everything on it. What happened felt like a betrayal of his own mind, his own body—if not his faith. Baseball was a religion for him.”