Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 63854 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 319(@200wpm)___ 255(@250wpm)___ 213(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63854 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 319(@200wpm)___ 255(@250wpm)___ 213(@300wpm)
I mean, the whole reason Nathan had cooked at all was because he knew Ava liked having a full English breakfast in the morning. Nathan himself used to be really bad at even remembering to eat, especially when he was busy working.
In just a short time, Ava’s made a huge impact on all of us.
I think she was really hurt by what we did—or rather, what we didn’t do—last night.
I can tell she’s at least fond of us. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have staged that daring defense of us in front of Joseph (and potentially in front of her colleagues, her students, and their parents, as well).
I was surprised—in a good way—and impressed that she did that. Flattered, too. Not because she called us “pretty,” but because she thought we were worth defending.
But has she considered the consequences of dating us—all five of us, at the same time?
Have we?
Even our parents get weird looks just because they’re still dating each other despite being divorced.
I’ve never understood the hate. Why does it matter? My parents’ aren’t hurting anybody with their choices.
But people are strange creatures. They care about the most trivial things and overlook the most important things.
Especially here, in a small town like Ashbourne, where everybody knows the dirt on everybody else, and there’s no such thing as a personal life because everything’s out in the open.
“Why so glum, chums?” Mom approaches the table with a deep-dish casserole that smells like a glutton’s heaven. She’s wearing an apron over her old T-shirt and a big grin on her face.
As Mom places the glass dish on the table, she says, “It’s been so long since I cooked this much. You know there’s a book called Microwave Cooking for One? I know, I know. It’s a sad title. But it actually has a lot of useful tips.” She takes a seat and glances around the table. “Anyway, I hope you’re hungry.”
“We should be,” Noah says. “We didn’t have breakfast.”
Mom frowns. “What’s wrong? Something’s wrong. You’re not inhaling the food like you usually do, even though you didn’t have breakfast. And none of you came home last night, and I think the night before that, too . . . ? Anyway, I thought you were at your dad’s, but you weren’t, were you?”
We shake our heads, our mouths too numb to speak.
“Where were you? And what’s wrong with you?” Mom pauses. When she hears no answer, she asks, “It’s the business, isn’t it? Is it difficult to manage everything from here?
“You know, you work too much. You should take a vacation one of these days. Maybe just take it easy while you’re in town. The country air will do you good. Life isn’t just about work, you know.”
“The business is fine,” Mason says with a sigh.
“What, then?” She looks around the table, scrutinizing our faces one by one. “Girl problem?”
“You can say that,” Liam admits.
“Ooh!” Mom exclaims gleefully. “What’s her name? When can I meet her? What does she look like? Do you have pictures of her? You know what they say: ’pics or it didn’t happen.’”
“Mom, can you not read the mood? That’s not happy news.” Nathan says. Someone’s irritable today.
“Okay, okay.” Mom clears her throat and puts on a somber face. “So who’s the one with the problem?”
Still not feeling like saying anything, all of us, one by one, raise a hand.
“All of you?” Mom asks. “Hmmm . . . And we’re talking about just one girl?”
Nods all around.
Mom grows quiet, but her eyes study us. “You like the same girl . . . and she doesn’t like you back . . .” She narrows her eyes at us. “No. That’s not it.”
She keeps trying, making random guesses and taking our reactions as some kind of a yes-or-no response.
“You like the same girl . . . and she likes you back.”
She nods, obviously satisfied by our reaction.
“You like the same girl . . . and she only likes one of you.”
She purses her lips.
“You like the same girl . . . and she likes all of you.”
She nods to herself.
Then, as she seems to realize the implications of her conclusion, she frowns and looks off into the distance.
Somehow, Mom gets it right.
“Oh, I know. You like the same girl, she likes all of you, and now you’re waiting for her to pick just one of you. Or, she said ‘no’ to all of you because she couldn’t choose. Or, she doesn’t want to choose but you wish she would.” My mom folds her arms. “Damn. Lucky girl . . . So, which one is it?”
“None of the above,” Nathan and Noah say, almost at the same time. They do that occasionally, although it’s gotten less frequent as they get older.
Mom knits her dark eyebrows in concentration. “Well, the only other possibility I can think of is . . . you like the same girl, she likes all of you, and . . . you don’t want her to pick just one of you?”