Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 88064 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88064 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
"So where does your mom live?" she asks as she slides her feet into flip flops.
"It’s mum in Oz," I smile. "And she’s only five minutes from here."
"Right. Mum. It sounds so formal!"
We start to walk to where the ute is parked. "Mum’s anything but formal," I tell her. "And she’s going to love you. Just wait and see."
"I’m very loveable," Dawn says, beaming. In her pink Minnie Mouse t-shirt, and soft black shorts, she’s the picture of cute.
"You are," I say, and when she links her arm through mine, my heart does a funny little squeeze.
I have a key to Mum’s house, which I use to open the door. The radio booms from the kitchen, playing the eighties music that she loves so much. Mum’s voice can be heard intermittently, singing along in a tone-deaf way that makes me laugh out loud. What an introduction Dawn is going to get.
Realizing I probably should have called ahead to warn Mum that I’m bringing a visitor, I stride quickly into the kitchen, praying that she’s dressed and ready to receive a guest. We find her at the large oak table, peeling apples.
"Hey Mum." I bend to greet her, kissing her warm rosy cheek, inhaling the comforting scent of her face cream. "I brought a friend to keep you company while I tackle your list of jobs."
Her eyes flick to Dawn, and as soon as she sees who’s there, her whole expression lights up.
"Not just a friend," she says. "A pretty girl."
"She’s a woman, Mum." I reach out to snag a piece of apple and Mum swats my hand playfully.
"If you keep eating it, there won’t be enough for the pie."
"You’re making apple pie?" Dawn says. "Wow."
"I’m not sure it’s going to be a wow pie," Mum says. "More like a good enough pie."
"This is Dawn, Mum. And your apple pie is perfect. Don’t let her fool you."
Dawn smiles and takes a seat at the table. "Is there anything I can help you with?"
"Sure." Mum passes her the peeler and the bowl of apples. "You peel and I’ll chop. And Logie can make us a nice cup of coffee."
Groaning at her use of my pet name, I fill the kettle and rustle up some basic coffees using instant and whatever milk is in the fridge. I’m sure it’s not barista level, but it’ll wake us all up.
When I place the mugs on the table, Dawn reaches for hers and cups it in both hands, making a humming, appreciative sound.
"I’ll leave you two," I say. "I’ll be outside."
Dawn gives me a parting wave, and as I open the sliding rear door, the sound of her and Mum chatting follows me into the messy space that is crying out for my taming hands.
An hour later, when I’ve worked up a sweat and my mouth is as dry as the outback, I kick off my filthy boots on the deck, and swipe away the sweat and dirt from my face with the hem of my shirt.
Inside, the music is still playing, and I discover Dawn sitting next to Mum, with a ball of wool and knitting needles clutched like weapons, and Mum desperately trying to stifle her laughter.
"I can’t do it," Dawn says. "Look. I think I’ve dropped another stitch."
"Be patient," Mum says. "It doesn’t matter. You’re not making Logie a jumper."
"You really want to keep calling me that in front of Dawn?" I sigh, making a show of my exasperation, while mum’s responding laughter is filled with glee. She loves teasing me, and it seems she loves it even more when it’s in front of a pretty woman.
Dawn’s eyes meet mine and they are filled with panic. "Seriously. I’m terrible at this. If there was ever an apocalypse that wiped out all the machines, my family would have to walk around naked!"
Mum waves her hand dismissively. "You’ve been trying for five minutes. No one learned anything worth knowing in five minutes."
"Stick around," I say, coming up behind Dawn. "Mum is about to unleash all her words of wisdom." I rest my hands gently over Dawn’s and take over the movement of the needles. "Just follow me. In, around, through and off. In, around, through and off."
With my help, Dawn successfully manages three stitches, then I let go. "Right. Just do the same."
She manages one stitch and squeals. "I did it. I did it." Then she lowers the needles to her lap and stares up at me. "Wait. You know how to knit?"
"I do." Running my hand through my hair, I glance at mum who looks like she wants to explode at my embarrassment. It’s stupid to feel that something like knitting isn’t for men. It’s a skill like any other, and I’m certainly not an expert. At a push, I could knit a blanket or a scarf. Basic stuff. Mum insisted on teaching me all kinds of life skills. It’s why I can cook, prune roses, lay insulation, and change a plug. The list is endless. But I guess my ability has blown Dawn’s mind because her mouth is still open.