Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 115706 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 579(@200wpm)___ 463(@250wpm)___ 386(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115706 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 579(@200wpm)___ 463(@250wpm)___ 386(@300wpm)
Raine levels me with the two most beautiful eyes ever created in the history of eyeballs. “I teach?”
“Yes, please. I’d love that. Very much. Thank you.”
With a determined little nod, Raine slides off Aubrey’s lap and sprints out of the room, presumably to get the tools of her trade.
“She’s so predictable,” Aubrey says with a soft chuckle. “Teaching and coloring: the two best ways to her heart. Pancakes, too. That’s the trifecta.” She makes a face that plainly says, All of which you’d have known if you’d bothered to meet your child before today.
I exhale. “Can we please just turn the page and—" I stop talking and slap a smile on my face when Raine returns to the room, excitedly carrying a box of crayons and a coloring book.
In the cutest voice ever, she commands me to sit on the floor next to her for my first lesson. So, of course, I comply, as butterflies ravage my stomach. Once we’re situated on the carpet, Raine proceeds to open a coloring book and babble happily, frequently in words I can’t understand, as she shows me the do’s and don’ts of creating a colorful masterpiece.
“Okay, I think I understand,” I say. And to my delight, she hands me a crayon and motions to the page before us.
“We do togedder,” she announces with authority. And a moment later, we’re jointly working on coloring a page featuring a mouse in a ballgown who’s throwing a lavish tea party for a big group of her forest-critter friends.
As I color on the floor next to Raine, I feel intoxicated by her. By the flowery scent of her shiny hair. By the fact that her little fingernails are the same shape as mine and my mother’s. I can’t help smiling at every tiny squeak of pride she makes in her student’s progress, every little grunt as she works on her own art. The buzz I’m feeling right now is better than any drug or booze. It’s better than playing a show for thousands. Better than winning a Grammy. Better than banging on my drums or riding my motorcycle up PCH on a perfect California day.
When I make a mistake of some kind, according to Raine, she touches my hand to correct me; and when I feel my daughter’s tiny touch, I’m flooded with an intense sensation of love and protectiveness that shocks me to my core. The sensation is so overwhelming, in fact, I quickly bow my head and pretend to be furiously concentrating on my work to hide the moisture forming in my eyes.
With my head still bowed, I say a little prayer. Please, let my mother see this moment.
I don’t know if I believe in an afterlife. I go back and forth on that. But in this moment, I desperately need to believe in one, for the sake of my soul. To be able to forgive myself for fucking things up, so badly. To be able to get a good’s night sleep, ever again. Being here now, I understand how profoundly I’ve fucked up in the past. Not only in relation to my mother, but in relation to myself.
“Dat good!” Raine says brightly, patting my hand. “Good job, Coobie!”
I’m forced to look up before I’m ready to do it—when I’ve still got tears in my eyes. Fuck me. Aubrey is clocking my tears. In fact, the second her eyes meet mine, tears spring into her dark eyes, too.
I hang my head again, feeling embarrassed. And before another word is exchanged, the sound of the front screen thwapping draws my attention, and an older man and woman enter the house, with the man on crutches.
“How’d it go at the doctor?” Aubrey calls out, as I covertly wipe my eyes and take a deep breath to get ahold of myself.
“It’s gonna be a long haul, Shortcake,” the man on crutches replies, before coming to a stop alongside his wife in the entryway to the living room.
“Hello,” the woman says tentatively. She stares at me with deep confusion on her face before turning to Aubrey for an explanation.
Aubrey motions to me. “Mom, Dad, this is Claudia’s good friend, Caleb. He came over to learn how to color with Raine.”
“Hi,” I say feebly, getting up from the floor.
“Claudia’s good friend?” Aubrey’s mother echoes, looking even more confused.
I shake Aubrey’s parents’ hands. But when I start to explain my presence, Aubrey immediately stops me with an authoritative wave of her hand.
“Continue your coloring lesson with Raine,” she commands. “While I talk to my parents in the kitchen.” Aubrey smiles at Raine. “We’ll be right back, Rainey.”
“Mm hm,” Raine says absently, while coloring up a storm.
With my heart pounding in my ears, I watch Aubrey and her parents head into the adjacent kitchen, all of them moving at Aubrey’s father’s slow pace. But just before the trio disappears into the next room, Aubrey’s father blurts, “I swear to God that guy looks exactly like the drummer for Red Card Riot!”