Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 70546 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70546 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
“What about your own cameras? One at the top of the driveway? Or a gate?”
“If I installed a gate, my family would just climb over the fencing. Or under it. The barbed wire isn’t so high all around the fields, and in some places, there isn’t even any. They’d find a way through, even if I had this place closed up like a bank vault. That’s just their way. The cameras would only give me advance notice that they were coming. Bust a few of their tires, and they might get the message.”
I want to tell him that they’re his family and that he should love them no matter what because they obviously love him, but the camera incident is still pretty fresh, and the marriage contract isn’t going away. It’s still the both of us who have to make the decision not to get married, and now that we know the consequences of doing it, it’s going to be that much harder.
The thought of turning my back on my parents, even if it isn’t fair to me for them to decide my life that way, even if a marriage should be for love and not just because, even if this and even if that, and even if they were wrong…well, it’s incomprehensible because I love them.
All of a sudden, it’s not my lady bits that are hot. It’s my eyes. They’re burning and prickling. And everything is catching up with me. The long drive across the country, the way I fled out of my parents’ house, not saying more than a few words to them, and being out here totally on my own when I’ve always lived with them. I’m so, so close to my family. Now that the sense of betrayal is fading, I realize how much I miss them.
I realize it all at once, and all of it weighs down on me. The sadness, the loneliness, the fear of what’s coming, the uncertainty of not knowing what the heck is coming next, and what other not-so-great surprises are going to come my way. The past few days have just been a lot.
I felt this way when I finally got here and found Thaddius. But it’s worse now.
This time, I can’t stop the tears.
They come like hot rivers. Like a flash flood sweeping through the kitchen. At least I’m far enough away from the bowl that I don’t cry into the burgers. I don’t need to make good on those funny expressions about flavoring things with tears.
“Oh god. Oh no. Please…please don’t do that. Please, please stop.”
I’m not stopping. I can’t stop. I wish I could, but tears aren’t actually waterworks, and they can’t just be turned off neatly. They’re more like a busted-up pipe or a fire hydrant gone haywire.
“I—I’m sorry,” I stammer with a hiccup. I swipe at my cheeks, but the tears keep on coming. Any moisture I wipe away is quickly replaced. At least I’m not wearing makeup. I never did like most of it, but there’s also the fact that when I really get laughing, I either laugh until I pee myself or cry. And since peeing myself when I’m often in public isn’t a great scenario, I’d rather tear up a little.
“It’s going to be alright. Somehow, it will be,” Thaddius reassures me as he approaches. I see his big shape getting closer through the blur in my eyes. Thankfully, it’s just tears so far—no wrenching sobs, no snot, and nothing grody or dangerous. One big hand comes down on my shoulder.
Pat, pat, pat.
He taps my shoulder lightly like how he petted the donkey this morning when it stuck its head through the window.
I’m so thoroughly embarrassed, sad, worried, confused, and…and a whole lot of other things right now that the tears aren’t going to stop. I do appreciate the gesture, no matter how stifled and mortifyingly fumbling it is. At least Thaddius has something of a heart. He’s not all grouch all the time.
“I—I’ll…c-call you when…when the b-b-burgers are done,” I stammer, sniffling.
I can’t tell if the expression on his face looks relieved or torn between going and staying. It’s impossible to even see his face properly through the haze.
“Okay,” he says quietly. I might not be able to see him as anything but a watery, mirage-looking shape, but I hear the concern in his voice, and I do appreciate it.
It means he might just be a little bit squishy in all the places I thought were hard.
Maybe he thinks they’re hard too. Maybe he doesn’t know they’re squishy.
After he’s gone, I can still smell him—his manly smell lingering in the kitchen, strong but not potent, a little bit of sweat, cologne, coconut sunscreen, dirt, hay, animal, and fresh air all blending together. Farm musk. It’s actually kind of nice.
And since I can smell it, it means my nose isn’t all that plugged, which means that with a few deep breaths, I can probably calm down and stop the tears.