Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 75474 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75474 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
“It’s your last chance,” I tell him because as much as I love Tommy, there’s only so much I am willing to sacrifice and my mental health is not one of those things. I won’t stand for being abused.
“Deal,” he says quietly.
I look up and ironically find Jordan looking more relaxed than I ever have before. Like a weight has been lifted.
“Will you come back to the city tonight? I’ve been having a hard time getting her to sleep.”
I can see the evidence all over his face. I nod and one side of his lips lifts into a rare smile. For him, that is. For most everyone else, it’s a resting face.
Twenty minutes later, after I’ve packed and Jordan and Maisie are waiting for me in the Audi parked in the driveway, ready to drive back to the city, my mother cups my face.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” I ask, hoping and praying she’s not having one of her episodes.
Bonnie stares into my eyes, the smile Maisie put on her face long gone. I miss it already.
“Don’t get your hopes up, baby,” she says, rather cryptically.
I snort, somewhere between finding this amusing and terrifying. “What are you talking about?”
“That man…” She drops my face and points to the front door out of which Jordan and Maisie left a short while ago, “…has nothing left to give.”
An uncomfortable foreboding parks itself in my gut. “I have no idea what you mean.” Partly…also partly, I don’t want to know what she means.
“He gave it all away already––a long time ago.”
“Mom, he’s my boss. There’s nothing going on between us. ”
“Maybe not––but I know my chickens.”
“Your only chicken says you’re imagining things.”
Leaning against the wall, she crosses her arms and watches me grab my bag off the floor. “Mark my words, Riley, you’ll end up with a broken heart.”
The words hit me hard, get stuck in the places I haven’t shored up yet. Like you? I want to say but don’t. I can’t hurt her the way she flagrantly hurts me sometimes. I know she doesn’t do it willfully but it hurts regardless.
“Love you. See you soon.”
Kissing her, I leave and let the resentment go the minute I step out of the house. I’ve gotten remarkably good at it. Because I learned a long time ago you never know what life has in store for you. Or when time runs out. Never let a chance to tell someone you love them slip through your fingers. Words may be cheap, but regrets are expensive.
Chapter Nine
Riley
“You wanna get together tonight?” my BFF asks. I check my iPhone screen. The time reads 8:30 p.m.
I’ve finally mastered the art of putting Maisie to bed at the same time every day. Huge win. And I’m learning to make small meals and plan ahead so I’m not constantly having to wonder what to feed her. Smaller win but just as important.
Maisie’s soundly asleep in her crib while I’m parked on the goose down sofa in the living room. I’ve got popcorn, a cold Dr Pepper, and Home Town on HGTV playing on a flat screen television big enough to double as a home theater. I’m good here.
“Can’t. Jordan’s at a business dinner so I’m staying over. Besides, I’m watching Home Town and Ben and Erin are renovating a home struck by a tornado and the elderly owner started crying when he saw the damage. It’s so sweet that they’re helping him.”
“Wow, you’re livin’ the dream,” she deadpans. “I hope Jordan doesn’t get food poisoning. What’s the name of the restaurant he’s at?”
“Vern…”
“I’m not ready to forgive him. Don’t ask me to.”
“Fine. I’ll give you another week.”
“You should take his ice cream out of the freezer and hide it in the oven.”
My best friend, ladies and gentlemen. “Savage.”
“He deserves worse.”
Revenge plots are Vern’s specialty. She loves it in her fiction novels and in real life. Best not to stoke that fire. Better to change the subject. I won’t bother explaining to her that he’s more than made up for it in the past two weeks since I was unfired. Like there’s always Dr Pepper in the drink fridge. And the food I like. Or that he’s always checking to see if I need something. And that he actually smiles at me sometimes. This is serious progress for a man who couldn’t look at me without his face going completely idle a few weeks ago.
“What happened to the corporate suit you went on that emergency date with?”
“Brandon? He’s gone, kicked to the curb for excessive sweating.”
Snort. “’Scuse me? What does that mean?”
I’m not even sure I want to know. Every time Veronica tells me about her dating nightmares, an angel loses its wings. If she can’t find someone to love, then I don’t stand a chance.
“It means that he sweats so much during sex that––and I’m not making this up. I mean, I wish I was, but I’m not––his sweat dripped down his face and onto mine”