Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 81635 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 408(@200wpm)___ 327(@250wpm)___ 272(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81635 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 408(@200wpm)___ 327(@250wpm)___ 272(@300wpm)
"That’s what you have family for," he reminds me. "You never have to do anything alone."
"Well, I promise that the next time, I’ll talk to you first." I smile.
"And I promise you that the next time, I’m not going to be a … what was it that your mother called me this morning?" He laughs. "A buffoon." I can’t help but laugh also knowing that my mother probably called him more than that.
"I don’t think you were a buffoon, more like a donkey." We both laugh now. "So now that you’re talking to me again," I start, "want to be a part of my show?"
"I’d love nothing more. We are coming down next weekend." I smile. "Set it up."
"Okay," I say with a weight lifted off my shoulders. "Done."
He hangs up, and I put the phone down. I don’t know if things will go back to normal. But it’s a step in the right direction. "I thought you were in the shower?" Vivienne says, coming in with a wineglass in each hand. "Why are you crying?"
"Dad called,” I say, wiping the tears away. "It was nice talking to him."
She sits on the bed next to me now, handing me a wineglass. "Mom is going to kill him any day if he doesn’t stop acting like a disgruntled child."
"She called him a buffoon," I inform her, and we both laugh, and I take a sip of wine.
"Grandpa called him worse on Sunday," she tells me, and I get up.
"Well, he’s going to be on the show so." I shrug and smile. "Maybe this is a new beginning," I say hopefully, going to the shower.
After putting on my yoga pants and a big loose white sweater, I head downstairs with my empty glass of wine. I can hear laughing already, and when I walk into the kitchen, everyone is there. "There she is," Alex says, and I look at her outfit, tight jeans and a tank top with her red-bottom shoes. Looking around, I see all the other women are dressed like me.
"Why are you all dressed up?" I ask.
“Ugh,” she groans out. “One, what if the house catches on fire and a hot fireman comes to save me?" We all laugh at her. "And two, what if I get into an accident driving home and the cop who stops me is hot?"
"Stop watching Chicago Fire and Chicago PD," Julia says, grabbing a chip from the bowl in front of her.
"Let’s get the snacks set up in the living room so we can watch the game," Erika says, grabbing two bowls and walking toward my living room.
"Why are we watching the game?" Alex groans.
"I haven’t seen my husband in a week," Erika complains. "This is the only way."
"I’ll bring the wine," I say, looking over at Jillian, who just grabbed Julia’s hand so she can feel the babies kick.
Jillian looks over at me. "Come feel," she says, and I walk over and put my hand on her stomach. "They are super active tonight."
"You did eat ice cream before we got here," Julia says, and when we finally all settle into the living room, we are all sitting around on the L-shaped couch. The coffee table is full of snacks, and when the doorbell rings, Vivi gets up to get the pizza.
She comes back with the four boxes, and we all look at her. "I ordered, and I was hungry. Sue me," she says, and Alex, Julia, and I remove the snacks, putting them aside so she can put the pizzas down.
"There he is," Jillian says, pointing at the screen, and we see Michael skate onto the ice. Cooper is right behind him, and I look over at Erika, who just smiles at the television.
"You know he can’t see you, right?" I say, gulping down my glass of wine and refilling it. She flips me the bird, making me laugh.
"I really hope they win tonight," Jillian says, taking a bite of her pizza and putting the plate on her belly.
"Well, if they stop acting like assholes," Erika says, and I drink another sip of wine while taking a bite of my pizza.
"There is Wilson," Erika says. My heart sinks, and I look up at my big-screen television. He skates to the ice and smirks over at the guy he’s in front of. I grab my wine and drink another glass as the puck drops. Things are uneventful for the first five minutes, and then someone slashes his wrist. The referee blows his whistle, and Wilson is exchanging words with the guy.
"He acts like he has the biggest dick in the world," Julia says, and I laugh.
"He doesn’t have to act," I say, and when I hear the words come out of my mouth, I want to die. It’s like whiplash when all heads and eyes turn to me. "What?" I say, grabbing my wine and finishing the glass.