Total pages in book: 146
Estimated words: 137077 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 685(@200wpm)___ 548(@250wpm)___ 457(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 137077 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 685(@200wpm)___ 548(@250wpm)___ 457(@300wpm)
I’ve heard people be described as a free spirit, but that doesn’t seem as accurate as I’d like it to be where she’s concerned, so I’m not sure I have a label for Riley. She’s definitely bubbly and bright, viewing life as a fun adventure that’s full of endless opportunities that she navigates through whims and impulsivity, but she’s also detail-oriented, empathetic, and the things that come out of her mouth are shockingly brilliant. The disconnect of her mind and her personality fascinate me, but I still wish I could find a box that would appropriately contain her. That’s how I operate, and that she doesn’t fit in one confounds me.
And irritates the fuck out of me.
“I’m going over to Janey’s for a bit this afternoon to help with some household stuff and watch Emmett while he sleeps.”
Baffled by the idea, I clarify, “Cole’s paying you to watch the baby sleep?”
She laughs at the simple question, shaking her head. “Have you met your brother? I think he wishes I would come stare at the monitor all night so he could get some sleep too.”
“Is Emmett not sleeping well?” Cole hasn’t said anything, but I’m not sure he would. He’s pretty private, though he’s virtually an open book compared to how secretive he used to be in the pre-Janey days.
She holds her hand up to her mouth like she’s telling me a secret and whispers, “Best sleeping baby I’ve ever seen. But his dad might be in my top five.” She arches a brow, and I recall her saying I wasn’t in her top five most difficult to deal with parents. I bark out a wry laugh at her too-accurate assessment of my brother, and she rushes to add, “Don’t tell him I said that.”
I hold up my phone, showing her the dark screen. “Already sent it to the sibling group text.” I didn’t, of course. But I might.
“You’re awful,” she tells me, laughing like I’m downright hilarious. To be clear, I’m not. At all.
“You’ve got the Timmons meeting tonight, right?” she asks, changing the subject as Grace comes sliding into the room. “Five minutes,” she tells my daughter, tapping her wrist, where there is nothing as sensible as a watch, but there are several bracelets.
Even at this hour, Riley is dressed for the day. This morning, her baggy jeans are hanging on her hips by a prayer and cuffed up to show the dark gray socks scrunched above her combat boots. Her t-shirt is boxy and loose, making me wonder if she’s even wearing a bra beneath it. Plus her jewelry, the black-framed glasses she sometimes wears that I’ve deduced are a part of her ‘look’ and not actually prescription, and her hair is half-up and half-down, with two small buns on top of her head that look vaguely like Mickey Mouse ears.
Her outfits are quite my morning’s entertainment while I put on another black, gray, or navy suit each day, only going so wild as choosing a subtly patterned or solid tie, while I wonder what combination she’ll show up in this time. I don’t know why it’s become so intriguing, but it has. Though I would certainly never let that interest show.
“Yes, so I’ll be late tonight,” I answer Riley’s question. “Feel free to order pizza for dinner, and no set bedtime since it’s Friday.”
“So what I’m hearing is…” She grabs the island and the back of Grace’s stool, caging her in, and then pins Grace with a look of excitement written all over her face, and I find myself just as eager to hear what she’s going to say as Grace is. “Pizza-movie marathon party!” she exclaims, making it sound on par with the Superbowl and a Taylor Swift concert all rolled into one. She even waves her arms in the air, dancing around. Well, it’s sort of like dancing, but more like one of the wiggling car wash inflatable tube guys. It’s almost cute, in an odd sort of way.
“Pizza-movie marathon party!” Grace repeats, though at several decibels louder.
They dissolve into a discussion of which movie series to binge while I listen and watch the two of them. I don’t know if I’ve ever met someone who could match Grace’s vivaciousness, but Riley does. Her eyes are just as sparkling, her smile just as bright, and her hands are moving just as wildly as my daughter’s through the whole conversation. It’s reassuring and uplifting in a way I don’t think I realized I needed. Once upon a time, I lived by the motto ‘happy wife, happy life’ and made sure that was the case, but for a while now, for me, it’s been ‘happy Grace, happy life’, and my girl is happy with Riley.
It's only been a few days. She could still bail like all the others.