Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 77030 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77030 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
While they fully supported my decision to go on that reality show, I’d known they had trepidations. In their infinite wisdom, they could see the potential for hurt and heartache in a way I just couldn’t. However, they also are the type of parents who believe the best way to grow and mature is by making mistakes that sting long enough to make lasting impressions.
When we make it to the porch, the door swings open and my father stands there.
Perry Webber certainly doesn’t look like the stereotypical accountant. My father more resembles a beach bum or a surfer dude than an accountant, which, technically, he sort of is. He was raised in southern California, and he could ride a surfboard flawlessly by the time he was five years old. He has longish, wavy blond hair, pale blue eyes, and a thick beard. He’s also tall and muscled, almost as broadly built as Aaron.
I can tell Aaron is shocked by his appearance, especially since my dad is wearing faded jeans ripped at both knees, an old Billabong t-shirt, and no shoes.
“You were expecting glasses and a pocket protector, weren’t you?” I can’t help but tease Aaron in a low voice before making a formal introduction to my father.
Aaron smirks, shaking my father’s hand before he invites us in. My dad leans in to give me a quick peck on the cheek, which tickles, then claps Aaron on the shoulder. “Aaron and I will fix everyone a drink. Your mom is in the kitchen.”
“Very subtle, Dad,” I mutter, and he winks. I’d expected no less than him pulling Aaron aside for some alone time to judge him. This is something Dad hasn’t ever done with someone I’ve brought over before, but I’ve told my mom how much I like Aaron. I’m sure she’s passed that tidbit along to my father.
I find Mom in the kitchen, making what looks like stir fry. I’m almost a pure clone of Amy Webber and if Aaron ever wants to know what I’ll look like in my late forties, he only has to gaze at my mom. We share the same fiery hair, hazel eyes that turn greener with high emotions, and petite frames. Our facial structure is almost identical, and my mom often gets mistaken for my older sister. I sure hope I have her youthful appearance and lack of lines when I’m her age. She always harps on me to wear sunscreen, and I’m mostly diligent about it.
“Hey, baby,” my mom coos when she sees me walk in. I round the kitchen island, and we engage in a long hug while the stir fry sizzles in the wok. “I’ve missed you.”
“Missed you back,” I assure her as we release. Bending over the wok, I inhale. “Smells good.”
My mom smiles, peering through the archway of the kitchen with a raised eyebrow. “Your dad kidnap Aaron already?”
“Yup,” I reply, moving back to the end of the counter and perching on a stool. “I’m sure he’s grilling him deeply by now.”
My mom laughs as she stirs the wok, splashing in soy sauce while her other hand perches on her hip. She’s always so relaxed and carefree. I definitely did not inherit that from her, but I do strive to emulate that. “Well, while the boys are otherwise occupied, tell me all about the trip to St. John.”
My mom isn’t totally clueless. I’d shared photos and texts. We’ve talked via phone and because I’m super close to my mom, she knows exactly how I feel about Aaron. But we haven’t seen each other since I’ve returned, so I haven’t been able to give her all the details.
“It was wonderful,” I say, propping my chin in my hand while she cooks. “So relaxing. And Aaron’s friends are super nice. The guys he plays on the same line with are all married, and their wives are so outgoing and inclusive. I didn’t feel like an outsider at all.”
“They sound lovely,” she replies.
“They really are.” Admittedly, they were so much more than I had anticipated.
I spend some time describing the resort, how we went snorkeling in crystal waters, and how we dined on some of the best food I’ve ever had. I did not tell her about how much sex I’d had, the countless orgasms, or how Aaron has taught me more about intimacy and desire than I could have ever learned from any other source because he takes the time to make it good for me. I love my mom and we are indeed close, but not that close.
I merely say, “Aaron’s great, Mom. I’m really glad I met him.”
“And gave him a chance,” she points out. “It was a good risk you took.”
That’s for sure. No one besides my mom and Veronica knows just how badly I was hurt and humiliated by Tripp. I spent what seemed like hours crying in her arms after that whole debacle, and because she’s my mom, she hurt right along with me. More than anyone, she’s always understood my reluctance to try again.