Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 84930 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84930 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
“Where do you wanna sit?”
Oh, he wants to sit together? I haven’t put any food together for myself, nor have I put a plate together for Skipper, but she doesn’t look nearly ready to come and sit for food. Best to just let her play, or she’ll be a monster to deal with.
I take my time putting food on a plate because I’m in no rush to join him. I’m nervous at the prospect of being one-on-one with him. I trust him completely. I do. I’m not worried about him saying anything ruthless or insensitive. I’m worried about the feelings I’ve been having toward him since setting eyes on him on my brother’s front porch.
I know that he wants to make this work. He hasn’t said the words out loud, but I feel it in my bones.
I know Jack is a good man who wants to do right by his daughter.
Not once has he said anything about a paternity test. Not once has he thrown anything in my face. I guess the issue is that I feel guilty and don’t know how to make things right.
The first step is the hardest. So I put one foot in front of the other and follow him, my heart thumping the entire way. It’s cold, but we end up back on the patio, saved by the portable heaters my brother has set up every few feet. Most of the men have congregated out here while the women mingle inside.
I feel Davis’s eyes on me when I have no choice but to plop down beside Jack on the pool lounger, resting the paper plate on my lap.
Davis raises his brows.
Is he serious? He’s the one who invited Jack! What am I supposed to do, ignore the man for the first half of the party? Pretend I don’t know him? Pretend I don’t know he was invited because of some diabolical plan my brother apparently has that I’m just now finding out about?
What’s his game?
“You look surprised to see me here,” Jack begins, stabbing a hot dog with his fork and taking a bite off one end.
“I’ll be honest. I wasn’t expecting you, but that’s not a bad thing.”
“Good.” He takes another bite. “I thought it was important to drop by one last time before I had to get home. Even though, you know—she doesn’t know.”
Right.
I shift uncomfortably, not sure how to respond to that. “The right time will come.”
He nods, finishing off the hot dog.
Not three seconds later, Skipper is coming to a halt before us, hopping on one foot. “Jack! You made it!”
Hop, hop, hop.
“How did you know I was going to be here?” he replies with as much enthusiasm as she has.
“Because! I told Uncle Davis!” Hop, hop.
Get this kid a damn pogo stick. She’s a ball of energy.
“You did? Thanks!” He holds out his fist so her little fist can bump it. “We have to stick together.”
“Yeah!” She glances down at his plate. “You have two hot dogs!”
Jack holds up three fingers. “Nope, I had three. Just ate an entire one and gonna gobble up the rest.”
“And a hamburger?” She looks shocked at the amount of meat on his plate and thrilled to discover there’d been more.
“Heck yes. Nom, nom, nom.” They’re grinning at each other, sending my heart into a tailspin with how much they look alike. “Hey now, where’s your lunch?”
Skipper looks down at her empty hands. “I should eat.”
“Why don’t you go put a plate together?”
“By myself?” she asks dubiously.
I rack my brain, wondering if I’ve actually ever let her put together her own plate of food at a party before and come up empty-handed.
“Sure, why not?”
Clearly, Jack has never been around kids before, or he’d know plenty can go wrong at a food table with a child involved in serving themselves: overloading their plate. Only taking junk food. Only taking one of something. Not taking enough. Dropping their plate.
The list goes on and on…
“Mom, can I?”
Er. “Sure,” I answer slowly. I mean, what’s the worst thing that could happen? “If you need any help, give me a little wave. I’ll keep an eye on you.”
“I can?” she shouts, the hop evolving into a skip as she bolts to the house as fast as her purple My Little Pony sneakers can take her.
“She’s easy to please.” Jack is amused as we both watch her through the window. With a giant grin on her face and eyes as wide as saucers, she mulls over her choices on the food table. She looks each and every last thing over before grabbing a plate.
On her tippy-toes, it looks like she grabs some pasta first, then fruit—only strawberries from what I can tell—then a brownie and a hot dog.
Her small hand takes a fork and napkin, and with a nod, she carefully tightrope walks back toward where Jack and I are sitting, another adult helping her with the sliding glass door.