Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 89093 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89093 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Desperate to spark a conversation, I talk about what everyone does when snowed in—the weather. “With how hard it’s snowing, I bet you wish you had an inside toilet. The multiple treks after you eat your stew will be horrendous.”
I mentally pat myself on the back when his grunt is more humor-based than annoyed. After placing two handfuls of diced meat into a rusty pot on top of an open fire heater, he twists back around to face me. Although it presents the perfect opportunity for me to recommence the interrogation I instigated this morning, I wasn’t lying when I said his silence the past couple of hours hurt. So instead of bringing up the past, I keep my focus on the now. “Is it wrong of me to admit what you’re cooking smells so good I’m regretting my decision to stick with vegetables?”
When I nudge my head to the bowl of peas I’m in the process of shelling, air whizzes out of his nose before he moves toward the dining table to speed up the process. With how slow I am, his stew will be soup before he adds vegetables into the mix.
My brows stitch when he pauses three steps away. He looks a little lost. I realize why when his eyes drop to the only chair in the room. His cabin isn’t set up for visitors, and my backside is hogging the only chair.
“Here, you have this seat, and I’ll—” My breathing shallows to a purr when my hobbled leap from the chair is quickly followed by JR taking a seat and pulling me to sit on his lap. “Sit on your lap.”
Within minutes, the awkwardness of sitting on his lap and trying not to swivel dissipates, and the enjoyment of a simple, basic existence takes over. I smile while remembering how I sat on my grandpa’s knee while shelling peas. He used to tell me stories about growing up in Korea and how I was lucky to live in the United States.
I thought he was too old to understand the difficulties of growing up in a country where neither of your parents originated from. It was only as I got older did I realize what he meant. I had so many more opportunities growing up than my mother had. I explored multiple continents, gained friends solely because I sounded different than them, and grew up with two loving parents who forever encouraged me to strive for my goals.
Up until yesterday, I thought I was doing that.
Now, as I sit on the lap of a man who has no possessions but a content soul, I begin to wonder if that is true.
How can you put a price on happiness when it’s meant to be free?
After breathing out the uncertainty swirling in my stomach before it requires a trip to the bathroom, I ask JR, “Do you always favor your left side?” When he peers down at me with his brows quirked, I place down the pod I’m in the process of shelling. “You pick up things with your right hand, revealing it is your dominant side, but all your strength seems to come from your left side.”
While keeping my head tilted to ensure he can see my lips, I raise his hands and mimic the moves he does while shelling a pea. “You gather the pod with your right hand, but you shell it with your left.” After taking a moment to drink in the contrasting sizes of our hands, I rip through the peapod with my left hand, grimacing when I destroy half the peas in the pod during the process. “I’m clumsier with my left, but you seem ambidextrous, if not favoring your left side.”
When I mimic the movements I just made, but with his hands instead of mine, the peas pop out without the mess mine made. “See. Ambidextrous.” When his eyes darken with unease, I add a bit of humor to my next comment. “You also always toss me onto your left shoulder. You should mix it up occasionally and let me view one butt cheek as regularly as the other.” Realizing I’ve gone too far, I blurt out, “Not that I was perving on your butt. It was just… there. I couldn’t help but look.”
I burrow my head into my hands before saying a silent prayer for my smarts to return. I get that and so much more when JR pulls my hands down from my face before covering them with his.
With his heart beating as fast as mine, he gathers up a pea before guiding its deshelling with my left hand. It’s still a disaster, but three peas land in the bowl instead of on the floor.
I call that a victory.
Tears well in my eyes when JR signs, “Again.” That’s the first word he’s spoken to me, and although simplistic, it’s a massive milestone I can’t wait to extend on.