Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 106798 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106798 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
“I’m really sorry. It won’t happen again.” I cringe. “The showers at my gym were not available for use this morning, so I had to shower at my boyfriend’s apartment, which was a pain in the ass, and it put me a little behind.” If he only knew just how much truth I’m giving him in that one sentence.
“I was kidding. It’s fine. Maybe just call or send me a message if it happens again so we don’t worry about you.”
God … I hope it never happens again. And worry? It takes a minute to find the right words because he’s caught me off guard. I’ve never had anyone worry about me.
“Absolutely.” I swallow past the tiny lump in my throat. “And, again, I’m very sorry. So …” I blow out a long breath. “Do you have a preference as to where I start?”
“We’ll be in the jungle, so start wherever. All the supplies are in the kitchen, including the hose and heads to the central vac.”
“Cool. Thanks. I’ll get to work then.”
“Great, Emersyn.” He again accentuates my name. Mmm-er-syn.
I chuckle, fixing my ratty, damp ponytail. “You really can call me Em.”
“I could.” Zach has the most wickedly playful smile, but it’s also kind. He has no idea how much I need some genuine kindness right now.
“How’s Suzie today?”
“Tired. She had her last chemo treatment yesterday. It was a rough night, but she’s a little better this morning.”
I’m so young, and my lack of response proves it. There is no easy way to talk about cancer with someone who is going through it themselves or living through the suffering of a loved one. All the idiomatic phrases that would fit something like a bad cold or the flu don’t work with cancer.
Hope she gets better soon.
Have you given her chicken noodle soup?
She’s got this!
This, too, shall pass.
It is what it is.
“I don’t know what to say,” I respond in a soft voice and shy shrug. That’s my truth, and I hope it doesn’t sound insensitive.
He shakes his head. “There’s really nothing to say. It is what it is.”
Okay, so he can say it without it sounding horrible, but I still won’t utter those words around him or Suzie.
“Anyway, I’ll let you get to work. I’d hate for you to do a perfunctory job because I made you run later than you’re already running.” He grins, so I know he’s kidding, sorta kidding.
Perfunctory. I grin. “Yes, sir, Mr. Hays.” Then I salute him and make my way to the kitchen.
After I thoroughly clean all the bedrooms, bathrooms, and office, I finish in the kitchen.
“You are still here and looking cute as a button in your high-rise jeans and ruffled blouse. Too nice to be cleaning my house.”
I glance over my shoulder, pausing my pink-gloved hands that have been scrubbing the sink.
Suzanne climbs onto one of the stools at the kitchen island.
“Hi. Well, I wear leggings and tees to work out. If I don’t wear these clothes to work, I’ll spend every day in activewear, and that would be depressing.”
My mom wore old, shitty, unmatched clothes. She preferred drugs to cute jumpsuits or matching socks for that matter. So many of my choices in life are a mix of conscious and subconscious fuck-you’s to her.
“I feel ya,” Suzie says. “Sometimes I shower, do my makeup, and throw on something cute just to feel … alive. Feminine. Desirable. Lounge pants and oversized hoodies can get a little depressing.”
I nod slowly. “Um … where’s Zach? Are you okay? Do you need anything?”
She tips her chin to the right. “That cabinet with the glass doors and the china?”
I point to it.
“Yes. The second drawer beneath it has placemats and cloth napkins. Under those is a box of Cap’n Crunch. Could you get it for me?”
After processing her request, I peel off my gloves and thoroughly wash my hands. Then I retrieve the hidden box of cereal and set it on the island in front of her.
“Thank you, Em.” She shakes a small amount onto the white and gray granite.
“Do you want a bowl? Milk? A spoon?”
“Nope. I’m good. Want some?” She slides five or six pieces of cereal across the counter.
“Uh … I’m …”
“Come on, don’t make a dying woman sneak cereal alone.” She flashes me an irresistible grin while tossing a few pieces into her mouth.
I mirror her expression and pop a few into mine. “Where is Zach, and why are we sneaking cereal?”
“Zach ran to the store and the pharmacy. Despite how he coddles me, insisting I take it easy all day, I’m functional. He has work tomorrow. My sister, Michelle, takes me to my appointments and keeps an eye on me when he’s gone.”
“What does Zach do?” I shove my hands back into the pink latex gloves.
“He’s a pilot. Most days, he can return home. So it’s only a handful of times each month that he’s gone overnight. Seniority has been a godsend.”