Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 106173 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 531(@200wpm)___ 425(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106173 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 531(@200wpm)___ 425(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
His eyebrows lift. “You can do that?”
“Sure. Despite popular belief, cats are trainable. With patience and the right motivation, you can teach them how to do almost anything. And these people lived on the twenty-second floor of a high rise, so getting rid of litter is a job, and it’s smelly in small spaces. Having a potty-trained cat eliminates that problem.”
“Do you think you could do that with this guy?” He points to Prince Francis, who is currently drooling all over the catnip mouse.
“Maybe. He just needs a motivator. I could see about starting that next week if you’re still going to need my help.” If his mom is moving into an assisted living facility, I might not be needed for much longer.
“Oh yeah, I guess we should talk about that. I don’t know how long it’s going to take to find the right place for my mom, and they’re already talking about moving her to a temporary facility.” He drops another gnome into the box.
“How do you mean?” Maybe I’ve been irrationally hard on this guy. He just started a new job, his mom is in the hospital, and now he has to find her a place to live. That’s a lot of stress. And he’s allergic to cats. If I was in the same boat, I might not find them quite so endearing either.
“They need the bed in the hospital ward, so if I don’t have a place for her, they’ll give her a room in a facility that has the right level of care until I can. Basically, she’s at the mercy of the system, and so am I.” He plucks another gnome from the mantel and a tumbleweed of dusty debris floats to the floor. He sneezes twice into his elbow. “Excuse me. So yeah, I’ll need your help.”
“Is it just you and your mom?” I can’t imagine what it would have been like to have lost my dad and not have my sister around for support. Even though she was only fourteen, at least I had her on my side, and I didn’t have to try to manage my brokenhearted mother alone.
“It’s just me, and my parents split up when I was thirteen. They don’t really speak, so it’s up to me to handle this.”
The more I learn about Miles, the more certain I am that I’ve misjudged him. “That makes it even more challenging, doesn’t it? Do you think your dad would help you if he knew how much work this all is?”
Miles sneezes into the crook of his arm again. “Excuse me.” He sneezes twice more, peels off a rubber glove, then pulls a perforated pill packet out of his shirt pocket and frees a tablet, swallowing it without water. “I’m not convinced it would be better to have his help on this. Not because he wouldn’t be willing to offer it, it’s just . . . complicated. When my parents split it was . . . tough. I ended up living with my dad because it was closer to the school I wanted to attend, and they had a great hockey program. But that hurt my mom, and she’s always been big on doing things herself and not asking for help, so it added another layer of difficulty. Anyway, all that is to say, it’s probably better for me to handle this rather than dredge up old hurts.”
He’s so alone in all of this. It reframes all our previous interactions and reminds me not to judge a book by its cover. “That’s a lot of responsibility to shoulder.”
He gives me a small smile and clears his throat. “I’ll get it sorted out. And it doesn’t hurt for you to have some background since you’re helping manage this guy.” He motions to Prince Francis, who is a drooly, happy mess on the floor.
“I’m happy to help in whatever way I can.”
“I appreciate that.” He coughs again, and this time it sounds more like a wheeze. He tugs at the collar of his shirt, sucking in a breath that sounds painful.
“Are you okay?” I take a step closer, tipping my head back as I move into his personal space. He’s quite tall. I’m not short, but he’s long and lean, and I’m pretty much average in terms of height. “Do you have asthma? Do you have a puffer?”
“Not asthma.” He clears his throat again, sucking in another wheezing breath. “I think.” Wheeze. “I’m having.” Wheeze-wheeze. “An allergic reaction.” Gasp. “Can’t breathe.”
“Oh! Oh my God. Do you have an EpiPen?” I had a friend in high school with a peanut allergy, and we had to stab her more than once. It was terrifying.
He shakes his head.
“How can you have an allergic reaction to something that causes you to not be able to breathe and not have an EpiPen!” I belatedly realize that now is probably not the best time to scold him. “We need to get you to the hospital. Right now.” I shimmy up next to him and duck under his shoulder, wrapping my arm around his waist. His muscles flex under my fingers.