Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 124836 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 624(@200wpm)___ 499(@250wpm)___ 416(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 124836 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 624(@200wpm)___ 499(@250wpm)___ 416(@300wpm)
“Hey, it’s the East.” Another of my men shook his head. “Chef Foo has to win. We can’t give a trophy to anyone from the South.”
“But it has to be fair.”
“Not when we bleed blue.”
Another countered, waving a forkful of Chef Foo’s crispy pork, "No, no, the pork is clearly superior. It’s not even about the East or the South. Stick to the food!"
I checked out the other areas.
Everyone had returned to their games. Aunt Min appeared to be getting some challenge from Einstein, but she was clearly still winning.
After several minutes, I checked our table and confirmed that all the other judges had committed to their favorite contestant and put the name onto their slips of paper.
Granted, Fen had to write Chen’s pick because apparently, he’d begun writing a poem on his slip.
Chen swayed off beat to Earth, Wind, & Fire’s “September” and turned to Fen. “Are you sure the poem was unnecessary?”
Smiling, Fen nodded. “I don’t think everyone is ready for that.”
“I rather think the poem would have added some more culture to the event.”
Fen patted his arm. “I think you should save that poem for next time.”
Chen didn’t say anything else. Instead, he gazed at Fen’s hand on him and this silly smile spread across his face. “Your hand is. . .very soft.”
“Thank you, Chen.”
I gazed further down the table.
Dima had been entrusted with the important task of gathering and tallying our votes. Currently, he collected the last of the slips from Chloe and Aunt Suzi and then he shuffled the papers in his hands like a seasoned card dealer.
Loud laughter came from near the stage.
I looked that way.
Chef Foo and Banks were now both on their second beer and had still been talking. They stood by the stage conversating about something that had both of their eyes wide with enjoyment.
Hmmm.
I considered Banks’s apology on the stage earlier.
I still wanted to beat his ass for all the commotion earlier, but I also knew that Banks had done it to be there for Moni.
Just then, Chef Foo and Banks clinked their beer bottles together in salute and snickered about something.
I’ll accept your apology, Banks. Just move with respect from now on.
I checked his mother’s table and spotted Marcelo staring at Moni for a few seconds and then gazing back down to his cards.
But what will I do with you?
Moni didn’t want me to kill Marcelo. And I found it difficult to lie to her. All of that put me in a tough spot to make a violent move against him and the South. If I did manage to get rid of Marcelo, she would come to me and ask if I had anything to do with it and. . .I had no idea if I could keep the dishonesty off my face.
Pressure built in my chest.
And I can’t lose her. No matter how much I want to kill that son of a bitch.
So I promised myself to keep my impulses under control.
For now. . .
Ruminations of violence pushed aside, I refocused on the festivities and put my attention back on Dima.
He opened the first slip of paper and checked the name written on it.
An intriguing smirk appeared on his face.
Then, he jotted that tally down in his notebook.
Whose name was it?
Dima unfolded the second slip of paper with a knowing smile and nodded.
Just then, a streak of a white paw darted out trying to bat at Dima’s pen.
Dima smiled at Barbara Whiskers who had her gaze targeting on his pen.
Rose laughed.
Showing patience that I didn’t even know he had, Dima gently nudged Barbara's paw away with his free hand and returned to writing down the tally.
But Barbara was persistent.
With the next swipe of his pen, she pounced again, this time her paw collided with his hand just enough to make a mark stray across the paper.
Dima scowled at her. “Do you want to vote?”
Her tail flicked energetically as she prepared for another round between her and the pen.
Dima gave it a third attempt.
Barbara pounced again, her paw clumsily batting at Dima's pen.
He chuckled, setting the pen down beside the tally sheet and teasing her with a gentle flick of his fingers along her whiskers. "Are you auditing my count, or just after my pen?"
The cat meowed and her tail twitched with excitement.
Soon, she shifted her attention between Dima's fingers and the fallen pen.
Dima continued to play along and glanced at Rose. "I give up.”
Grinning, Rose took the pen and notebook from Dima. “I’ll do it, while you give her some attention.”
Right as I was about to check to see what Moni and Jo were giggling about, Chen spoke much too loudly. "You know, Fen, in the vibrant, all-consuming tapestry of this lovely evening woven only by God and who knows who else, your presence, your lovely presence is like a breathtaking thread glowing. Golden. Unmistakable. Bright. It is my. . .favorite thread in this. . .tapestry."