Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 85535 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 428(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85535 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 428(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
They didn’t start the company but never quit hustling and always worked, sometimes to the detriment of the family. Which is why I think Mom has such a strong hold on Alex and I now; all of the years not being there because she was in the office.
Granted, she was working alongside my dad—but the truth is neither one of them were there for me.
Not really.
Rarely were they at my soccer games, rarely were they at the Science Fairs or Debates.
They relied on my grandmother to keep an eye on me before my brother came along.
And now they rely on me to keep an eye on Aunt Myrtle, who is very similar to a small child. Not because she’s incapable of anything, but because she requires so much attention—she’s a shifty little thing, and if you turn around for one second, she gets into trouble. No one enjoys having an old man show up at the doorstep unannounced to take her on a date.
Or one who’s been invited to family dinner.
It happens all too often, and it became my job to wrangle her.
Anyway.
Guess that’s another reason, more or less, that I haven’t dated. No time.
My phone is on my new desk, and it pings.
Mom: Do you have a minute?
Me: To talk?
Mom: Yes, on the phone.
I hate talking on the phone, but oftentimes Mom won’t let me get away with just texting.
Me: Yeah, I have a minute—I’m just unpacking.
Two seconds later, it rings.
“Hey babycakes, how’s it going? How’s your new house?”
“It’s good.” I stare into the box sitting on the desk chair. “I’m just now starting to unpack all my stuff—got the bathroom organized and now I’m unpacking all my school supplies.”
Mom is quiet for a few seconds before admitting, “I really wish you would’ve let your dad and me come to help you move in.”
“I don’t have that much stuff, Mom.”
I’m not about to tell her I wasn’t going to risk needing their help because along with Mom and Dad come my brother and my great aunt, who always seem to be in tow.
I know it’s not their fault, but it’s extremely inconvenient. You can’t have one without the other these days, and the pair of them get into so much mischief it’s like having a set of fraternal twins with a seventy-one-year age gap.
“Are you still coming home this weekend for Sunday dinner?”
My mother started this thing a few years ago where she makes spaghetti every Sunday—along with garlic and cheesy bread—and forces everyone to be home to sit around the big dining room table for a few hours of bonding. First, she’ll ask how everyone’s day was, and then she’ll ask what the best part of their day was even though we typically spend each and every weekend up each other’s asses.
Then she’ll tell us the plans coming for the following weekend so we can add it to our calendars—like going to the apple farm, or the movies, or a fundraiser organized by one of her neighborhood mom friends.
“I think I can come for Sunday dinner.”
I mean, the ride is twenty minutes and wouldn’t be a hardship.
I should probably stay home and make nice with my two new roommates considering we haven’t spent any time together, but they’re both really busy, and the last thing I want to do is insert myself or invite myself to anything they’ve got going on. I already feel like a giant loser; I don’t need to make it worse.
“Why don’t you bring your roommates along? Dad and I would love to meet them.”
“Or, maybe next time? It might be too soon to introduce them to Aunt Myrtle.” I laugh.
Mom laughs too. “Yes, you could be right.” She pauses. “Is there anything you want this weekend for dinner instead of spaghetti? I could prepare something else, like steak? Or shrimp? Do you want sushi? Maybe we could do pizza.”
She’s trying so hard—I feel guilty because it’s obvious she’s not sure what to do without me being there. My mother’s whole purpose is being a mom, and she has to find her way again now that I’ve left the nest; who knows, I may never live there again.
Kind of a depressing thought, yeah?
“Mom, spaghetti is fine. You know I’ll eat whatever you set in front of me.”
“You don’t sound thrilled.” It sounds like she is pouting.
“Don’t change what you’ve been doing for the past two years because I’m gone.”
“But…” Her voice trails off. “I like having you home.”
“Mom, I’ve never been gone.”
“You left and went to Europe.”
That’s true. “But that was only for a semester, and you and Dad came to visit.” Mostly she shopped, did high tea, and played tourist while I was at class, but yeah—it’s not as if she didn’t see me in the time I was gone.
Plus, she FaceTimed me and called every chance she got.