Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 85484 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 427(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85484 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 427(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
I just hope one day I can join my brothers in that camp.
“What about you?” Dad asks. “You seeing anyone?”
“Well, I was a pretty great wife.”
I smile. “Nah. I’m not seeing anyone these days.”
“You aren’t getting any younger, you know that?”
“Fuck you too.”
Dad laughs. “You know what I mean.”
Yeah, I do.
I walk around the kitchen and pick up empty water bottles and broken nails.
The more I see of my brothers and their lives now, the more something snips at the back of my brain, telling me that would be nice.
The truth is that I can imagine myself coming home and having dinner with someone. Spending my Saturdays at the farmers’ markets or rearranging furniture for the thousandth time. Taking my family to church early on Sunday morning and sitting beside my brothers and their families.
There was a time in my life when I didn’t want that. I was sure I’d never have a wife or even want one.
But I see it now. I get it—if I had the right person.
I force a swallow. “I hear ya. I’m just waiting on the right girl.”
Five-three. Brown hair that looks reddish in the sunlight. A laughter that gets higher the longer it goes.
Not afraid to tease me. A brilliant mind. A woman who won’t back down when she’s right.
“Who knows if I’ll ever find her,” I say.
“Well, if you don’t, you can always take care of Banks.”
“Ha.” I stare at Dad out of the corner of my eye. “Give him to someone else. Oh, wait—you know what would be funny?”
Dad grins. “What’s that?”
“Give him to Foxx. We’d have entertainment for days.”
Dad laughs, coming to me to help pull a cabinet away from the wall.
“What are you doing after this?” Dad asks.
“I don’t know. I’ve been here since eight this morning, so I’m pretty beat.”
After some tugging and cursing, the cabinet breaks free. It only takes a small amount of drywall with it.
He dusts his hands off. “I’m going to get out of here and run by the store. Mom’s making meatloaf tonight, so come over if you want some.”
“Cool. Thanks for letting me know.”
“Always. Thanks for busting your ass out here today. You have this place ready to roll.”
His praise makes me stand taller. “Thanks, Dad.”
“I’ll see you later, kid.”
“Bye.”
He steps over a shop vac tube and exits through the side door.
I start to gather my tools when my phone buzzes. It takes me a few seconds to find it beneath a piece of wood I yanked off a windowsill.
Unknown: Octopuses have blue blood.
“What the hell?” I laugh, my fingers flying over the keys.
Me: Seriously, who is this?
I wait. And wait. And wait.
No reply.
I begin to slide my phone in my pocket when it rings. Banks’s name is on the screen, and while I really don’t want to answer it, I do. Just in case.
“What?” I say.
“What happened to hello?”
“It’s called cutting to the chase. What’s up?”
“Where are you? You haven’t been home all day.”
I unscrew the cap off my soda. “Work. Did you get the rooster out of my yard?”
“Working on it. What project are you working on?”
“The new one out on Whistler Street. It’s just outside of city limits across from that big blue house with the million windchimes hanging off the tree in the front yard.”
I pause, waiting for him to respond. But after almost a minute, I get impatient.
“Are you there?” I ask.
“Hey. Yeah. I’m here. Hang on.”
“What are you doing?”
He sighs. “I was returning a text.”
“You call me and then text someone else?”
“Settle down. You can have all my attention now.”
I roll my eyes. “You’re missing the point.”
My tools are scattered throughout the room, so I work on gathering them and returning them to my toolbox.
The long day of work begins to wear on me, and I’m reminded, once again today, that I’m not a twenty-something anymore. My back aches. My left arm feels like I might’ve torn my bicep. And my foot still hurts from that fucking block a couple of days ago.
“How long are you going to be there?” Banks asks.
I shrug. “I don’t know. I’m getting my stuff together to leave now.”
“How much stuff do you have to gather?”
“What’s it to you?”
“Why are you so hateful?”
I sigh. “I’m not hateful. I’m just not sure why you’re asking me a million questions.”
“One more. Want to hang out tonight?”
“No.”
He groans. “I need a friend, Jess. Give me a chance.”
“You work with people all day. Pick one of them.”
“But I like you best.”
“Sparkles—”
“Stop calling me that.”
“Or what?” I ask, tossing my toolbelt into my toolbox. “What are you gonna do about it?”
“I can’t tell you, or that would take the fun out of it.”
I really want to be mad because whatever he’s alluding to will probably inconvenience me for days—weeks, even. But as much as he frustrates the piss out of me, what would I do if he wasn’t around?