Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 61705 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 309(@200wpm)___ 247(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61705 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 309(@200wpm)___ 247(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
* * *
Cora flies into my arms as soon as I walk in the house after practice.
“I’m glad you’re okay,” she says, squeezing me tight.
“I’m sorry I worried you. Won’t happen again, buttercup.”
She looks up at me and grins.
“He was only gone for one night,” my mom says with a little huff. “Are we really so awful?”
I give her an admonishing glance to let her know I don’t appreciate the comment.
“No, Grandma, you’re not awful,” Cora says. “I was just worried.”
“Uncle Luca, I made a plate!” Emerson says from the living room.
“You made a plate? Can I see it?”
She stands up on the sofa and turns around so I can see her. “It has to get heated up first. But then it’s for you.”
“We went to a pottery painting place earlier,” my mom explains. “They have to fire the things the kids painted and you can pick them up in a week.”
“That sounds fun.” I look at Cora. “What did you paint?”
“A mug.”
“Where’s Jack?” I ask, looking around the open kitchen, dining and living room.
“Playing his lame video game,” Cora says. “He made a mug, too.”
“Nice.”
“How was practice?” my mom asks.
“Good.” I open the refrigerator and look around.
“I’m making a roast and veggies for dinner,” Mom says.
When I was a kid, she would have added, ‘so don’t spoil your dinner,’ but she holds back since I’m twenty-eight and we’re standing in my kitchen.
I take out some lunch meat and cheese. “I need something now, I’m starving. I’ll be hungry later, too.”
“Here, let me make you a sandwich,” she offers. “Why don’t you go get a shower and it’ll be ready when you’re finished?”
I always shower at the rink after practice, but I came straight home today since I knew Cora was anxious to see me. I’m drenched with sweat.
“Okay,” I say. “Thanks, Mom.”
I jog up the stairs and stop by the open door to Jack’s room.
“Hey, Uncle Luca,” he says, not looking over from the TV screen he’s glued to as he plays his video game.
“Hey, man, how was your night with Grandma and Grandpa?”
“Good.”
I won’t get more that than out of him. I was lucky he even said hi to me. The kid gets so lost in those video games, same as I did when I was a kid.
I’m about to leave and hit the shower when I do a double take, seeing that not only is my dad sitting next to Jack on his bed, he has a video game controller in his hand, too. He doesn’t even look over at me because he seems so absorbed.
“You just got killed again, Grandpa,” Jack says.
“How do I come back?”
“Just wait for a second, and it’ll bring you back in.”
I turn away before either of them can see my amused smile. My dad was a banker, and he was always telling us video games would rot our brains when he walked in the door from work and found me and my brother playing them. He never even touched a controller or knew what the games were about.
But now, things are different. Now Matt’s gone, and my throat tightens a little as I turn on the shower and think about my dad playing video games with Jack. He’s trying to fill a little bit of the void in the kids’ hearts, too.
Raising three kids is harder than I ever thought it would be. And even though my parents aren’t close enough to be here and help a lot, they do help. Last night was a gift. I’m glad Abby and I screwed seven ways from Sunday, because that was the last night I’ll be spending with a woman for a very long time.
Chapter Seven
Abby
When I walk into the gym at my usual time, Percy’s sitting on a weight bench. Usually she’s standing next to the weight rack, notebook in hand.
“What’s up?” I ask, setting my bag down.
She gets up from the bench and smiles. “We’re just gonna walk today.”
“Walk?”
I follow her to the quarter-mile track that runs around the perimeter of the gym.
“Don’t sound so shocked.”
After a single note of laughter and a shrug, I say, “Well, isn’t it Whoop-ass Wednesday?”
Percy shrugs back. “I figure I’ll whoop your ass tomorrow.”
“But then you’ll have to make up Throw-up Thursday.”
She grins. “Really? You’ve got a name for every day?”
“Oh yeah.”
“Hit me,” she says, hands on her hips. “What do you call our days together?”
I fall into step beside her on the track. “Wellll…we start with Murderous Monday.”
She laughs and I continue. “Then there’s Torturous Tuesday, Whoop-ass Wednesday, Throw-up Thursday and Fuck You Friday.”
Percy’s smile is so wide I can see most all of her perfect white teeth. “Fuck You Friday?”
“Hey, you asked.”
“Just for that, I really might make you throw up tomorrow.”
“I like that you push me hard.”
“Good.” She nods in greeting to another walker as we pass.