Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 100661 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100661 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
“There are a lot of Joes,” he said. “My dad is Domenico, but he’s always gone by Nick.”
“Domenico is cool,” I said.
“You think?”
“Yeah. It’s kind of old world, but it has an edge too.”
“It’s a mouthful for a little kid.”
“Right, we’d need a short version.” I giggled. “And Dom is a little harsh for a baby. What about Nicky?”
Joe’s eyes widened. “After my dad? You’d do that?”
“It’s something to think about,” I said. “I like the idea of respecting your family’s history and traditions. This baby will grow up surrounded by Buckleys, you know? I want him to feel connected to his Lupo roots too. So yes, I would do that.”
Joe swallowed and opened his mouth like he might say something, but he closed it without speaking. He took a drink from his beer.
“Do you think your dad would like it?” I asked.
Joe cleared his throat. “He’d love it,” he said.
SEVENTEEN
joe
Back at my apartment, I asked Mabel if she wanted to watch a movie.
“Sure,” she said, curling up in one corner of the couch with the blanket. “What should we watch? I picked the museum, so you can pick the movie.”
“What kinds of movies do you like?” I picked up the remote and turned on the system.
“I like almost everything except horror. Nothing gory or scary. What kind do you like?”
“Slasher films,” I joked.
She laughed. “What’s your favorite movie of all time? Like from when you were a kid.”
“You won’t want to watch it.”
“Is it Texas Chainsaw Massacre or something?”
I shook my head. “No. It’s just a movie I used to watch with my family.”
“I like classic films too.”
“I’m not sure The Sandlot qualifies as a classic film.”
She giggled, burrowing deeper under the blanket. “I’ve never seen it. Show me.”
“Are you serious? You want to watch The Sandlot?”
“Sure. But I apologize in advance for the number of times I’ll have to ask you to pause it so I can use the bathroom.”
“You never have to apologize to me.” I found the movie and put it on, then turned off all the lights before dropping onto the other end of the couch. “God, I haven’t watched this in years.”
“No?”
I shook my head, realizing that I’d never even wanted to watch it with Courtney because I knew she’d have been bored. And her disdain would have taken away from my happy childhood memory. But somehow, I knew Mabel was going to like it, or at least appreciate why I liked it.
I’d seen The Sandlot so many times in my life I could just about recite it, so my mind wandered as it played. Moments from last night and this afternoon ran through my head.
How furious I’d been seeing that jerk’s hand on her—I’d have gladly mopped the floor with his face. How torn I’d been last night when I’d stood outside her bedroom door, wondering if I should knock, deciding against it in the end. How confused I was about these feelings I had for her.
Were they real? Would they last? Was it just the biological urge to protect my offspring that had me feeling so possessive of her? If she weren’t pregnant, would I feel the same?
Maybe it was the name thing getting to me. The way she was willing to name our son after my dad. I hadn’t even realized how much that would mean to me until she suggested it. And it was going to mean the world to my father, if that’s what we decided.
I remembered how she’d said something about getting married in the future and taking her husband’s name. It was reality, it would happen, but I fucking hated the thought. I fucking hated that guy. But what could I do?
She laughed at something happening on the screen, and my eyes drifted toward her. She was so fucking cute all cuddled up under that blanket. Her hair was kind of curly today, and several times at the museum I’d been close enough to smell her shampoo or her body lotion or whatever it was that made her smell like cupcakes.
And I knew.
It was more than just the baby.
I wanted to be close to her. I wanted to stretch out behind her and wrap my arm around her middle. I wanted to pull her into me. I wanted to share myself with her in a way I couldn’t explain and didn’t even fully understand.
At one point, she looked over at me—she’d probably felt my eyes on her—and smiled. Her dimple appeared. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” Pausing the movie, I got off the couch before I did something drastic. “How about a snack? Popcorn? Pretzels? Chips?”
“You have all those things? You do not look like you eat that kind of junk food.”
“I don’t, normally. But I wasn’t sure what you liked, so I added a few things to my grocery list this week.” I grinned at her. “I remembered what you said about ice cream and potato chips.”