Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 91937 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91937 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
“Okay, Momma.” His sweet voice makes me smile as he turns around and walks toward the living room. The only thing in there is a two-seater couch and the smart TV I was able to get at a garage sale.
I take a pan and turn toward the fridge, grabbing all the things I need to make the sandwich. Then I grab a biscuit from the basket in the corner, which has been cooling since early this morning. “Do you want cheese on that?” I put my head to the side and shout at him.
“Yes, please!” he shouts back, and I look to the side. My eyes are on the back door as it opens, and Brady steps out wearing gym shorts and nothing else. My mouth hangs open when I see his bare chest. A coffee cup in his hand and his phone in the other, he pulls out one of his wrought-iron chairs and sits down before taking a sip of his coffee and then running his hands through his hair.
“Is it almost done?” Wyatt shouts, making me turn away from ogling my neighbor.
“Yeah,” I lie to him since I haven’t even started the bacon. I quickly turn on the gas stove and throw in two slices of bacon, letting them cook before adding the egg beside them. It takes ten minutes before I’m plating his sandwich and calling him over. He skips back into the room this time, sleep gone from his features. “Do you want some orange juice with that?”
“Can I have milk?” He walks over to the little table in the corner of the room with two chairs, pulling out one and sitting down. As I put the plate in front of him, he doesn’t even wait for my hand to move out of the way before he’s picking it up and biting into it.
“Good?” I ask. He mumbles with his mouth full as he chews, and all I can do is laugh. I pour myself my third cup of coffee today before grabbing a glass and filling it with milk for him. I set both cups on the table before going back and grabbing my own lightly baked biscuit, walking back to the table with a jar of the apple butter I attempted to make the other day.
“Eww,” Wyatt says right away, “that is not good.”
I shrug because he is not wrong. It was my first time trying to make it and to say it was a bust is an understatement. It’s very tart. I should have added more sugar, but then I didn’t want it to be too sweet. “It isn’t that bad,” I point out to him. “Besides, I’m not wasting it.”
It’s his turn to shrug his shoulders, and I take in a deep breath. “You okay?” I ask, and his eyes immediately fly to look at mine. It’s been a couple of days since Winston paid us a visit, and we haven’t spoken about it.
“Yeah,” he replies quickly, his eyes going down to his plate. “He’ll get bored of it soon enough.”
“I think so too,” I agree with him, but one thing he doesn’t know about his father is, he doesn’t like for anyone to think he’s failed. And me serving him divorce papers and then taking his son away from him is him failing. He doesn’t want his son to spend time with him. Nope, he wants his son so he can parade him down Main Street and pretend to be the perfect father.
“Do I have to go next Sunday?” he asks, looking up at me. When we first went to court, Winston got him every weekend, but he never showed up. So, when he took me to court again, I brought it up, and the judge gave him every second Sunday. In the past six months, he’s been there twice out of thirteen times. For the past two months, he hasn’t shown up at all. Not once. Not even for one second. But he has graced my door in the middle of the night, case in point, a couple of days ago.
“Your father wants to see you.” I am really being the better person instead of saying no. But the last thing I need is not to show up and be dragged into court again. This time, I don’t have a lawyer; I don’t even have money to call a lawyer. So I’d be sitting by myself at the table while the Cartwrights’ stuffed-shirt lawyer shows up. “We have to go and do a bit of back-to-school shopping,” I tell him. “Are you excited about starting school?”
“Yeah,” he says, letting the talk of his father go. When he gets old enough, he’ll decide what to do and only him. If he wants to have a relationship with his father, that is what will happen.