Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 103988 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 520(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103988 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 520(@200wpm)___ 416(@250wpm)___ 347(@300wpm)
She glances wistfully at the spot on the couch beside me. “Honestly, I could use that too.”
“Ditch them then,” I say, hoping she’ll meet my gaze. Hoping.
Her eyes widen almost imperceptibly and then suddenly, she’s grabbing her purse and making her way for the door. “I wish I could, but I’d feel bad. They’re… I think they’d be annoyed if I canceled last minute.” Is it my imagination or is she actually running from me? “Do you want me to bring you something back?”
I reach for the TV remote and flip channels, annoyed that she turned me down.
“Nope.”
“Okay, well. Have a good night, Connor.”
I don’t say anything as she hurries the last few feet to the door.
As soon as she’s gone, I stand and drag my hands through my hair. I can’t sit here all night. I’ll go stir-crazy. I change and head out for a run then stop in at my gym. I like it. It’s small and private. Everyone minds their own business, and no one walks around strutting like a peacock or taking pictures of themselves in the mirrors.
It feels good to do something physical, to do something other than stew about Natalie. After I’m done and sweating bullets, I walk over to my townhouse to check on the progress. The contractor has been sending me updates via text, but it’s not the same as seeing it in person. It’s only been a few days, and already there’s a marked difference when I unlock the door. They’ve torn up the old shag carpet the previous owner laid down over the original wood floors. I bend down and wipe off some of the grit and grime, and it’s as if the hardwood breathes a sigh of relief.
Phase one is to restore the townhouse to its former glory while also adding some necessary updates: tankless water heater, updated A/C and heating unit, new pipes, and new plumbing fixtures throughout the house. No more carpet, no more stuffy drapes, no more cat wallpaper in one of the upstairs bedrooms. I mean, honestly, the things people spend their money on completely baffles me.
I walk through the house, snap some photos for my parents, and catalogue the things I want to talk to my contractor about before I head back out into the summer night. I take the long way home, dipping into The Common and walking by the lit-up carousel and the empty pond that houses the ice rink in winter. Summer hours mean families are still out even though the sun has set.
I buy a hot dog from a vendor and take a seat on a bench near the carousel. Though I didn’t intentionally place myself here, I don’t mind watching the families rushing on and off the ride, kids scrambling for what they perceive to be the best option. I want the tiger! Mom, she took the only unicorn!
At thirty-six, I suddenly feel old as shit. Guys from my high school started having kids years ago. Hell, some of them have teenagers by now, which is slightly unsettling. I catch sight of a boy sitting off to the side of the carousel all by himself, using a phone to illuminate the pages of a book. His family must have left him there because he didn’t want to go on the ride. Am I allowed to want a kid like that? One who likes to read? As a single man, am I allowed to want a kid at all?
I stand up and toss my trash before heading out of the park.
Noah’s at the townhouse when I get back, flopped on the couch like I was a few hours ago. After we talk for a bit—he tells me about his night and I update him on the renovations—I head upstairs to rinse off, and by the time I’m done, he’s up in his room with the door closed. It’s late. Natalie should be back. I go into the kitchen to get some water and peer through the back windows, but the lights are off in the guest house. She’s still not home.
Then I remind myself it’s not my problem if she’s not home. Natalie is not my problem. Natalie is not mine at all.
Upstairs, I prop myself up with pillows on the guest bed and grab my Kindle. I’m halfway through a reread of World War Z, but I get distracted when I hear the front door slam.
Natalie’s voice calls up the stairs. “Sorry! Shoot. Sorry!”
I smile as I listen to her head into the kitchen with all the grace of a herd of elephants. She knocks something over and it crashes to the ground. She curses loudly and then instructs the object to “Stay put, you stupid thing.”
I put my Kindle aside and listen as she fumbles around, apparently trying to find a light switch because I hear her asking where it’s gone. She thinks Noah moved it while she was out, and then she howls as she somehow injures herself.