Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 90114 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 451(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90114 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 451(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Or a trip to the butcher for said beef bones.
I know Dad would mention some grocery in Chinatown, one through a strange alley, behind a corner, that you have to know to find. But that's too much effort.
Even the one ten blocks away is too far.
The place around the corner may not have a great selection, but it has good prices for the city, and it's the on the way home.
Good enough.
But then, there doesn't have to be any more good enough. I can ask Shepard's staff—the man has actual staff—to buy anything I want. I can make a mess crushing star anise with a mortar and pestle and demand someone else clean it up.
Not that I actually want to go through such an arduous task. They sell it crushed and it's nearly as good.
Mom would hate hearing that, but, hey, she's the one who loved The Beach Boys.
I smile as the song skips to "California Girls." Then I think about how Dad would always tell Mom how it was about his favorite girls now—your real California girls now, sweetheart, are you going to learn to surf—and my smile disappears.
I still miss her. But, more, I'm not ready to miss him yet.
Not that I need to consider it now.
He's up. He's cooking. Things are good. They can stay good. At least, for a while.
And the rest of my life… it's wide open. I can enjoy. Period. End of sentence.
I check my cell. Sure enough, I have both Lock and Key's numbers. I can ask them for anything.
Is that imposing? Or does it make their job easier if I'm specific?
After all, telling Key to surprise me with breakfast means she has to both come up with the idea and execute it.
I shoot her a text.
Jasmine: Can you find some Milk Oolong for later?
She replies immediately.
Key: Of course, Ms. Lee. Should I prepare an afternoon tea based on the flavor profile?
Why not?
Jasmine: Yes. Thanks. I'll let you know when I'm on my way home.
It's strange calling Shep's place home, but it's close enough.
Jasmine: Can you buy an extra tin? For my father?
Key: I'll have it sent over.
"Don't you have work?" Dad turns his attention to the pot on the stove. He stirs carefully, like he's fixing dinner for a king.
"Mr. Billings let me go."
He makes that awful hmmm noise.
"It doesn't look right, apparently. Me being engaged to Shep."
He does it again, only longer and lower.
"That's part of why we kept this quiet." It's a good explanation and it's almost true. "I like my job." Sure, my gig has its irritations. And, yes, I wouldn't do it for free. But there is something about getting things done. It feels good.
I want to be productive. Useful. Self-reliant.
I need to explain this in some way that will win Dad's approval. "I was worried about what would happen. I thought Mr. Billings would understand. But I guess there's no belief in love in business. Shep owns a competing VC firm. That's enough."
Again, he makes that horrible hmmm noise.
"I'm going to look for something else. But I'm not sure what. I don't think any other firms will hire me. Or… if they will, it will be because I'm engaged to the enemy, and they want to trot me out like a symbol. Look, it's Shepard Marlowe's wife. We can use her to get to him. We're important. Something like that."
He does it again.
I go to slide my hands into my pockets, but I'm not wearing a coat. It's warm today. Beautiful actually. My sweater dress—one I bought on sale at Nordstrom to treat myself on my twenty-first birthday—is already too thick for the weather.
But I like the thickness of the fabric. And the dark color. They're shields. To hide all the things going through my head.
"I actually slept in today," I say. "I can't remember the last time that happened."
He finishes stirring the sauce. Turns the burner to warm. Goes to fixing the ground pork.
"How's the apartment treating you?"
"It must be expensive."
"Shep's covering it."
Again, the hmmm.
"He volunteered." Sort of. "I, um, I wanted to have an easier time visiting with you. Isn't this easier? We can walk to the park." We can't make it to Battery Park or Central Park or the Brooklyn Botanical Garden. But we can walk to Browne Park. Or something a little farther out.
"I like the apartment."
"Good."
"It's our apartment."
"Yeah."
"You should be here. Until you do get married."
I want to. So badly. But I can't tell him that. He'll get the wrong idea. "It's going to be soon. We're just getting ready."
"You're marrying soon?" He turns back to me, studies my expression.
I nod.
"Are you pregnant?"
"Dad!"
"Why else?"
I say nothing, but that doesn't matter. He reads it all over my face. Not the ruse or the deal I've made with Shep. The reason I agreed.
Because Dad is sick. Because he might die. Because I want him to walk me down the aisle.