Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 96284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 481(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 481(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
That was the whole point of Currahee, to shine a light on how lonely we often were after a traumatic event—and how we sucked at catching these souls before they turned to quick escapes that harmed them.
I shook those thoughts for now and spread some cream cheese on my bagel. The meeting with Martina—I should focus on that. She and her film crew were currently shooting in Chicago, and she’d spent the past three weeks riding alongside cops, paramedics, and firefighters.
Jake slid the cutting board with sliced red onion my way, and I finished up with lox. Nobody else touched that in the fridge. Jake went further, wanting all kinds of shit on his bagel. Cheese, lettuce, mayo, pastrami, leftover turkey—okay, more cheese. Christ.
“Don’t look at me like that, you fuckin’ purist,” he said.
“You’re no longer welcome in New York,” I told him.
Goddamn heathen.
“Fuck you, Elsie loves me.”
I grinned. It was true; my aunt was a big fan of Jake.
After we’d stowed away all the fixings, I took a photo of his monstrosity of a bagel and sent it to a friend from high school back home. He ran a traditional Jewish bagel shop with his old man and two sisters. They would not be fans of Jake’s.
Then we got sodas and headed out on the patio, and I snatched up a blanket on the way. Sixty-five degrees wasn’t quite warm enough for a T-shirt and cargo shorts, which I pretty much lived in.
We sat down on our couch, and Jake asked if I had any other birthday plans today. I just shook my head and took a bite of my bagel. I’d been celebrated plenty this weekend, and I was expecting calls from New York tonight. That was enough for me.
I didn’t tell Sandra that Jake had hit the jackpot with his birthday gift for me, ’cause my wife…bless her, as Jake would say…was under the impression that I loved to receive clothes and colognes. Oh, and she’d given me freaking golf clubs because she wanted me to go golfing with her dad.
Not happening.
Jake knew what was up. He’d given me a new backpack for hiking adventures, and he’d stuffed it with shit I loved. An old Brooklyn Dodgers tee, some CDs, saltwater taffy straight from Jersey, new headphones, concert tickets for this Saturday, and a book about Frankie Valli.
My folks had loved The Four Seasons. So much that Mom had sort of named my brother after Frankie. Well, it’d been a combination. Frankie Valli’s full name was Francesco, and my brother was Francis—’cause that was the name of the childhood friend who’d introduced my parents to each other.
Jake just knew these things. He paid attention. He listened to the crazy stories my aunt and uncle shared.
So yeah, that was my plan for the night. I was gonna read, eat taffy, listen to music, and rake in birthday greetings from the other side of the country.
“What about you?” I asked. “When’s your dinner with Nikki and the new boyfriend?”
It’d taken fucking forever, but Nikki was now walking around with stars in her eyes.
“Tomorrow. Haley’s watching the kids.” Jake swallowed what was in his mouth and popped open his soda. “Russell suggested a sports bar with good burgers, so he can’t be all bad.”
I chuckled.
I looked forward to meeting the man myself. Nikki loved to talk about him. He was older, by quite a lot too—he was like forty-five or forty-six, thereabouts. A successful investor and entrepreneur, but apparently one who’d come from nothing, so there had to be some rough edges under the shine. Otherwise, I wasn’t sure Nikki would’ve fallen for him.
We joked about being below-the-line people, all of us. Jake, Nikki, Haley, and I came from modest backgrounds with blue-collar parents. Too much polish made us reel back. We didn’t go to fancy restaurants or shop on Rodeo Drive.
I could admit, I liked to splurge sometimes. Especially on presents for others and technology. Jake felt the same about cameras and whatnot. That was where we let ourselves go nuts.
“Maybe it’s time for me to get out there too,” Jake said. “Meet someone. I don’t know.”
Oh.
That made sense, I guessed…
“It’s been a minute, huh?” I didn’t want details—at the same time as I was a fucking masochist and wanted to know who’d been lucky enough to get fucked by him.
“How many minutes in two years?” he retorted.
Oh, damn. So he hadn’t been with anyone since Nikki?
I’d unfortunately fished out enough information to gather that they’d…uh, scratched each other’s itches throughout the pregnancy, despite Jake’s supposed awkwardness.
Having experienced Sandra pregnant, I could certainly make a guess or two about Nikki’s needs. But anyway, I didn’t wanna go down that road. Baseball stats were a better topic.
Fucking hell.
I was a douchebag for getting jealous. I had a wonderful wife. Why couldn’t I be satisfied with that?