Total pages in book: 160
Estimated words: 153268 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 766(@200wpm)___ 613(@250wpm)___ 511(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 153268 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 766(@200wpm)___ 613(@250wpm)___ 511(@300wpm)
oBITCHuary: Exactly. Keeping my brain active. That’s smart thinking. Favorite color? DON’T SAY BLACK.
McMonster: Purple. Yours is orange.
oBITCHuary: HOW DO YOU KNOW ALL THIS?
McMonster: I pay attention. Favorite word?
oBITCHuary: uyedin’éniye
oBITCHuary: It’s Russian. It is the state of being alone without being lonely. Yours?
McMonster: Well, now I can’t tell you mine because it’s not half as good as yours.
oBITCHuary: There are no right or wrong answers.
McMonster: Titties.
oBITCHuary: Okay. I take it back. That is the wrong answer.
McMonster: I like the sound, I like the organ, I like the meaning. The prospects. Everything. It’s a great word.
oBITCHuary: This is bad.
McMonster: Hey. You asked.
oBITCHuary: Not the word. THIS. You and me.
McMonster: Why?
oBITCHuary: Because we’re utterly inevitable.
CAL
“Baby Can I Hold You”—Tracy Chapman
After my forehead got stitched and bandaged, Row insisted on walking me home. An ordinarily chivalrous offer, unless you took into account the fact that I had an actual ride home in the form of Kieran Carmichael and his comfy Maybach. Apparently, Zeta had told Dylan about my injury. Dylan had called Kieran and demanded he save the day.
“I’ll walk you,” Row declared when I grabbed my backpack and coat from the break room. “You’re not getting into that moron’s car.”
“Pretty sure I am.” I collected my hair into a high ponytail. I was exhausted from lack of sleep, my head injury, and his constant bull crap. I also didn’t know what to make of Row’s behavior toward me. One second he told me I looked perfect while bleeding, the next he seemed annoyed by my existence.
Row removed his chef jacket, revealing a tight-fitting, olive-green Henley. “It’s not safe.”
“How is bumming a ride with Kieran unsafe?”
“He looks like a substance abuser.” Row slipped on his flight jacket.
Laughter spluttered from my mouth. “No, he doesn’t. As a professional soccer player, he gets tested for drugs all the time.”
“Those panels don’t check for mushrooms.”
“You’re reaching.”
“Yeah, the end of my fucking patience. You don’t like being with men in a private setting, remember?”
“Yes,” I huffed, not liking that he brought up things I’d told him as oBITCHuary. “I also remember trying to get over myself. Having Kieran take me home is a great step forward.”
“Grab your umbrella, Dot. We’re outta here.” He ignored me.
He was dropping everything mid-service to walk me home, and I wasn’t sure what to make of it. As if reading my mind, Row jammed his beanie over his head angrily. “It’s the second time you’ve been injured on my property. Just making sure you’re up and standing. Don’t get any ideas.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You looked happy again.”
“Is it a crime?” I suppressed a laugh. He was ridiculous.
“It should be.”
We said goodbye to our colleagues and exited through the back door. Chill grazed our faces as we stepped into the crisp winter. Staindrop looked like a tipped-over snow globe, the dandruff of snow feathering the ground. I stuck my tongue out in delight and caught a few flakes.
“First snow of the season!” I twirled, opening my arms. I had on Mom’s kick-ass mittens. “Dad loved the snow.”
My father and I would wake up on winter mornings to a white-covered world. We’d run outside and make Minecraft-inspired snowmen. We’d hold their twig hands days later, as they melted, and say our teary goodbyes. They’d all had names, backstories, and motivations. Dad had said not to be sad because the snow melted into everything we touched and the same could be said about losing a loved one. The person who left us was still there—soaked into memories, objects, and other people. We all left a mark on this world.
It was only now that I understood Dad’s greatest gift to me wasn’t the bike I’d gotten for Christmas or even the Barbie house he’d gotten me when I was six. He had taught me creativity and imagination. And they were my safe place.
I turned around to check if Row was still there. He was. And he was staring at me in a way that made me feel naked yet somehow all fuzzy and warm inside.
“Let’s go, Dot.”
Descartes was a twenty-minute walk from my house. But it was a steep hill down toward the harbor. The street was lined with small shops adorned with pine wreaths, naked trees tangled in Christmas lights, and fluffy pillows of snow decorating rooftops.
The first few minutes were spent in silence. I tried to keep my mouth shut. We both needed a second to wrap our heads around what had just happened today.
Do not start a conversation.
Do not. No matter how much you want his words.
And his smiles.
And…fine, even his frowns.
“So why did you and Allison Murray break up?” my mouth inquired.
Damnit, mouth. You’re grounded.
“What happened the day you broke your ankle?” He ran his tongue over his teeth, and I didn’t know if he’d speculated the connection between the two subjects, but my heart skipped a beat.