Total pages in book: 135
Estimated words: 128430 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 514(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128430 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 514(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
Lila comes up the steps and hugs me. “Must have been a good night if you’re smiling while you’re crying about it.”
“It was the best,” I say, sniffling through my words.
“Hey, Mom?”
I turn back to see them together, looking more like father and son than I’ve seen. I wipe back my tears. “What is it, buddy?”
“If Cooper had a sleepover, why wasn’t I invited?”
My finger goes in the air, and I’m about to answer before realizing I’m not sure I should say that. Um. You’d think I’d be used to the tough questions by now, but my mind goes blank.
Then Cooper says, “I just brought your mom coffee this morning.”
“Ew,” Reed replies, completely disinterested now. Wriggling in Cooper’s arms, Reed is set back down. He runs up the steps. “I need my backpack.”
Lila says, “Seems like you and Cooper need to wrap things up a little earlier next time.” Leaning in, she asks, “Is there going to be a next time?” My friend is blunt to put things nicely, but she’s also fiercely loyal and the best friend I could ever ask for.
“We had sex and said I love you. Not in that order.”
“Um . . . huh?” Her gaze pivots to Cooper, who gives us a little wave. Then a huge smile rises on her face. “Don’t you guys ever take your time?”
Reed hugs my middle and then runs between us. “Hey Cooper, want to walk to school with me?”
“Abso-fu—Absolutely, buddy.” When Cooper looks back at me, I tap my watch. I thought he was about to be late.
He shrugs. “See you later.”
Three words that beat goodbye any day.
I lean against the doorframe and watch them together—Reed bouncing in all his energy, Cooper carrying his backpack, both having a great discussion that, apparently, involves big arm gestures—until they turn the corner.
This is a very good day.
43
Story
Three Months Later . . .
* * *
Everyday life.
It wasn’t a series of great events that happened. Just life.
Nothing out of the ordinary to make a more interesting story to tell at parties. “He walked into the coffee shop needing Wi-Fi . . .”
His version starts a little differently. “I saw her across the party with some other guy.”
“Not for long,” I’m quick to add.
“No.” He always smirks at that part. “Not for long.”
Cooper and I eased into a routine that became the pattern of our days and nights. Weekdays and weekends. Sometimes, we went out, but mostly, we stayed in and spent time with Reed.
Maybe when so much trauma happens at the start of adulthood, you naturally crave the opposite. Excitement these days is found in different ways, calmer and more peaceful.
“Mom.”
I look up to see Cooper and Reed staring at me. Reed says, “It’s your turn.”
Ah. The game. I spin the wheel on the board, then move my car six spots. “Triplets? I don’t think so. I’m going to spin again.”
“You can’t.” Reed is giggling. “That’s a lot of kids.”
I start laughing. “Yeah, I can’t imagine that many kids.”
Cooper says, “I can. I can imagine it.”
Left speechless with my mouth hanging open, I widen my eyes. Well, shit. Does he want more kids? Do I? He makes it sound easy, but there’s so much to be considered before adding to our family. Guess it’s something to start thinking about.
“I’ll finish my residency next year, and I can apply in Brooklyn for a full-time position, either at one of the hospitals or in private practice.”
I’m still staring at him, trying to process how he has all the answers as if he’s already thought this through.
With Reed here, it’s not something I want to have an open discussion about before we can talk one-on-one. “I think that’s a conversation for another day.”
“You told me you’d give me a brother or sister if you could.” I side-eye the kid. He has no clue how to hold our cards close to his chest.
Cooper sits back and crosses his arms over his chest, raising an eyebrow in challenge. “It’s your move, babe,” he says.
Challenge accepted. “Reed, I said that because you asked for one for your fourth birthday, and I couldn’t give you a sibling.”
His head jerks to Cooper. “But Cooper’s here now. I’ll ask again for my next birthday.”
Rapidly blinking with my mouth open again, I’m not sure what he is inferring about Cooper being here now to make a baby happen, and it’s definitely not a conversation I want to have over a game of Life and bowls of Cocoa Pebbles.
I shoot Cooper a hard glare, which makes him laugh.
He sits forward again, resting his elbows on the table. “Don’t worry, I can have that conversation with him,” says the pediatrician. Thank God.
I turn to Reed. “You have Jake. You’re basically brothers.”
“Yeah, but when he turned twelve a few weeks ago, he told me to scram.” He plonks his arms on the table and sticks out his bottom lip.