Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 111732 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 559(@200wpm)___ 447(@250wpm)___ 372(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111732 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 559(@200wpm)___ 447(@250wpm)___ 372(@300wpm)
“Now, you do it,” Ripley commands.
Max frowns and pauses, so I’m fully expecting him to turn her down. But, once again, the man surprises me. After taking a moment to get into the right headspace, I guess, he delivers exactly the voice Ripley’s demanded of him in the most heart-melting, ovary-melting way imaginable.
As Ripley squeals and applauds in response to Max’s high-pitched imitation of her, I let out a deep and highly involuntary sigh of arousal. And that’s it. I’ve given myself away.
“Mommy!” Ripley shouts happily when she notices me. “Look at how pretty I made Maxy!”
I force a smile and stride into the living room. “Yes, I see. He’s very pretty, indeed.”
“And smart.”
“Yes, very, very smart. And kind and generous, too.” I smile at Max. “Thank you again for picking her up. You’re a life saver.”
“I was happy to help.”
“Yeah, you look really happy.”
We share an amused chuckle that acknowledges Max’s present misery.
I point to the bottle of nail polish in Max’s hand and address my daughter. “Is that Mommy’s nail polish?”
Ripley’s face turns pale. “Oh. I forgot.” Her little chest heaves. “Am I in trouble?”
I don’t know where she got that verbiage. I’ve never once told Ripley she’s in trouble or even that I’m mad at her. “No, you’re not in trouble,” I say. “You made a mistake. We all make them. But rules are there for good reasons, honey. You’re not allowed to use my nail polish because you could spill it and make a mess on the carpet or furniture that won’t ever come out.”
“Maxy won’t spill it, doe.”
“He could. We all make mistakes. Even Maxy. Also, you need to respect other people’s things and always ask permission before using them. That’s what you’d want other people to do before using your things, right?”
Ripley nods and looks like she’s holding back big, soggy tears. “I’m sorry, Mommy. I didn’t forget. I wanted to make Max extra pretty, so I broke da rule.” She bursts into tears.
I glance at Max and we share another smile. The kid would give up the nuclear codes if her interrogator said so much as, “It’s not nice to withhold nuclear codes, Ripley.”
“Well, I appreciate your honesty,” I say, trying not to chuckle. I take the bottle from Max and reunite it with its applicator cap, and then sit on the couch and take my bawling daughter into my arms. “It’s okay, love,” I whisper while stroking her hair. “I did something naughty once, too, simply because I couldn’t resist.” I furtively glance at Max. “I get it. It’s hard to resist temptation sometimes. But next time, remember how you’re feeling right now, so you stop yourself from doing it again.”
“I will, Mommy. I promise.”
“I know you will, sweets. You’re a very good girl.”
I glance over Ripley’s little head at Max again and the look on his face sends butterflies whooshing into my belly. He looks like he’s feeling deeply moved over there. But maybe I’m wrong and he’s simply relieved I’m finally here.
“Are those towels wet?” I ask, pointing to Max’s feet.
“No,” Ripley says sadly. “I wanted to wet dem, like you always do it, but Maxy said dat would be bad for da carpet, so we only pretended.”
“Max made the right call,” I say. “Thanks, Maxy. Excellent work.”
“I didn’t think twice about the nail polish, though.”
“Bah. You did great. Are you hungry? I brought food.”
“Awesome,” Max says. “Thanks.” He motions to his face and hair and hand—the makeup, nail polish, and glitter my daughter so lovingly applied. “Can I shower this stuff off?”
“Of course. Why don’t you wash up in Dad’s bathroom, while I get Ripley bathed and into bed? Feel free to borrow a T-shirt from my father’s dresser while we throw that T-shirt into the washing machine. Otherwise, Auggie’s going to find glitter all over his car when you return it to him.”
“Good thinking.” Max winks at Ripley. “We wouldn’t want my brother thinking we picked up a hitchhiking unicorn in his car today.”
Ripley’s little features scrunch. “What’s hitchhiking?”
I shoot Max a “thanks a lot” look for introducing this lovely concept to my daughter, and he responds with an “oops!” face that makes me laugh.
“Well, go on,” I say. “Now that you’ve said it, explain it to her.”
“Oh. Okay, well, hitchhiking is when a person gets a ride with someone they don’t know.”
Ripley gasps in horror. “Dat’s not allowed. I can only drive with Mommy or Grampy or someone Mommy says. And only if it’s Mommy who says so. Like today, when Mommy called and said it was okay to drive with you.” Ripley doesn’t stop there. She’s energized by this topic, obviously. She begins excitedly explaining the concept of Stranger Danger to Max—the version she’s been taught by me that was designed to be effective and make her wary without terrifying her so intensely she refuses to leave the house.