Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 67398 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 337(@200wpm)___ 270(@250wpm)___ 225(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67398 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 337(@200wpm)___ 270(@250wpm)___ 225(@300wpm)
Don’t murder anyone or take up day-drinking. I’ll see you later.
Merry’s patient reply gave me a little boost.
“I’m not sure about this weather.” My father cast a suspicious glare out the window at the murky sky that threatened midday rain. “I thought it was supposed to be hot and sunny here.”
“Darling, you still have jet lag,” my mother soothed. They’d arrived two days ago, and she continued to complain hourly about the time difference. “If your head is as muddled as mine, you’re not sure about anything.”
“Well, other than our tee time on the twenty-sixth.” My father managed a half-smile. “Finally got that handled.”
“Excellent.” I tried to sound enthusiastic for them, but they had every spare moment of their visit tightly scheduled with tennis, golf, hikes, and more tennis. No surprise I was dreaming of sneaking off to North Shore and Merry on the twenty-sixth or twenty-seventh.
“Cara, what can I do to help?” My mother tended to draw Cara’s name out into three or four syllables, and I didn’t blame Cara for her confused look. My mother didn’t look ready for helping with much beyond lunch reservations in her designer holiday sweater set, pressed shorts, French manicure nails, and a hairdo entirely unsuited for humidity.
“You could hold the baby?” Cara suggested. Ostensibly, my parents had come to meet Noah Craig, but they weren’t exactly what I’d call active grandparents. Unlike my grandfather and our outings or Merry’s dad and grandpa and how they took the boys surfing and played board games with them.
“Oh.” My mother made a startled noise as Cara deposited the baby in her lap. And the baby, sensing a tense stranger, let out a loud yodel.
“Here, let Uncle Nolan try.” I scooped the baby up and transferred him to my shoulder, one of his favorite spots for observing the world. I motioned toward the living room. “Mom, why don’t you review the liquor cabinet and see if we want to do a fun cocktail as an option for the adults at the party?”
Cara handed over the key to the cabinet, then patted my shoulder as she passed by on her way to the kitchen. “Bless you.”
Of course cocktail selection only lasted so long before my mother returned as I settled the sleepy baby into his little portable crib in the corner of the family room.
“You’re a natural with the baby.” My mother’s observation would be a bid for more grandchildren coming from anyone else, but from her, it was a segue into one of her favorite topics: find Nolan a new job. “You know, I could probably find you a well-paying nanny position among my network.”
“I’m happy with my current occupation.” I didn’t bother to hide how bored I was of this conversation.
“Including the degree you’re not using,” my father added from his position on the couch.
“I loved NYU, and I couldn’t teach without the degree.”
“Which you could do full-time.” My mother raised a well-manicured finger.
“I’m an actor first.” I’d said it a thousand times, each time believing it to be true, but this time, I kept hearing the applause at the Lights Festival.
“See, Natalie, he’s happy. He’s an actor.” My father’s blustery tone made me want to take up the day-drinking Merry had warned about. “Who cares if Broadway is dying, and roles dwindle as one approaches forty? He’s happy.”
“You make happy sound like a bad thing.” My brain flashed to the other morning, in the hot tub with Merry, totally content, as happy as I could remember being. I was happy here, in a way I hadn’t expected this far from Broadway.
“I’m just saying, a little ambition never hurt anyone.” My father’s definition of ambition was similar to Craig’s—academic achievement, military or career achievement, accolades and awards, and measured largely by salary or rank.
“I have plenty of ambition.”
“I know you do, darling.” My mother patted my arm. “And your big break is just around the corner.” Her patronizing tone was almost worse than my father’s judgmental one. “Your father and I are just worried for your long-term future.”
“Trust me, I think about my future all the time.” I raked a hand through my hair. I might be bald by Christmas at this rate.
“Nolan did an amazing job with the holiday festival here.” Cara swept back into the family room. “Do you want to watch the video?”
“Well, I suppose we have time.” My mother perched next to my father on the couch, looking ill-at-ease with the amount of unscheduled time this Christmas Eve. The lack of an itinerary was undoubtedly making her itchy.
“I want to see!” Stella wandered into the family room, followed by Athena, both way more interested in the video than my parents. They flopped on the floor in front of the sectional with big pillows.
Cara linked her phone to the TV to show the video she’d made of the performances. Despite holding a baby at the time, her camera skills were admirable, and I found myself caught up in watching from the audience’s angle. In the moment, I’d been so busy conducting each number, I hadn’t had a good sense of how the performance was landing. Merry had accused me of perfectionism, which was easy to lapse into from the director’s chair, but watching as an audience member, I saw fewer areas for improvement and more of the pageant’s inherent charm.