Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 82715 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82715 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 414(@200wpm)___ 331(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
“Your mom hasn’t changed at all,” Emilia said, setting Rhett down on the counter. He’d quieted down again, but I had a feeling he was still on the edge.
“Nope.” I moved around her to start the dishwasher.
“Aw, man,” Myla said, leaning down to look at Rhett’s knees. “You ripped your pants.”
“Oh no,” Emilia mumbled grimly as Rhett began crying in earnest again.
“Owie,” he sobbed.
I wanted to do something, say something, but it seemed like anything and everything was setting him off. Instead, I just stood there like a dumbass, hovering.
“Hey, bud, look at me,” Emilia said softly, straightening out Rhett’s leg. “Look, it’s okay. Totally fine. And we can put a Band-Aid on it.”
“You can?” he asked, hiccuping.
“Promise.”
“I’ve got Band-Aids of every shape,” my mom announced. “But these philistines don’t like the cool patterned ones anymore, so we don’t have any of those.”
“Philistine?” Myla looked at my mom in confusion.
“A cultureless swine,” my mom said with a flourish, grinning at my sister. “Here’s the peroxide, Em.”
My breath left me in a quiet whoosh at my mom’s casual nickname for Emilia. I was struggling. Every breath I took was painful, and I didn’t know what to fucking do, but I guess my mom just planned on starting back up where we’d left off—like nothing had even happened. I grit my teeth until my jaw popped.
“Whoa, little man,” Rumi said as he strode into the kitchen. “Did you get in a fight with a raccoon?”
“Owie,” Rhett sniffled, watching as his mom wiped at the scratches on his palms.
“Does it hurt?”
“Yeah.”
“Yeah, looks like it.” Rumi sidled up close and looked down at Rhett’s hands. “But you see the bubbles? It foams up like that as it cleans all the germs out. Pretty cool, right?”
“Ouch,” Rhett whined, trying to pull his hand away.
“Stop it, Rhett,” Emilia ordered, her voice firm but gentle as she continued to clean out his scratches. “I’m almost done.”
Rhett wailed louder.
“Almost done,” Emilia said again.
I watched as Rhett continued to scream bloody murder, and Emilia kept going, and while part of me felt sick to my stomach that she seemed to be ignoring the fact that she was hurting him, most of me felt nothing but respect at her quick efficient movements. It only took seconds for me to realize that it was bothering her just as much as it bothered me, she just knew that the dirt needed to be cleaned out, and she didn’t want to prolong it.
When she was done bandaging him up, she lifted him into her arms and carried him to her purse, pulling out a pinkish-gray blanket from inside. He snatched it from her hands and pulled it to his face.
“Well,” my mom said, moving around the crowded kitchen, gathering up plates and utensils. “I’m glad that you were so brave, Rhett. Wiping out sucks.”
“Band-Aid,” Rhett said, following her movements with his eyes.
“I saw that,” she said. “Very cool.”
Rhett’s gaze moved to me. “Daddy me up.”
“Daddy picked you up?” my mom asked, turning toward him. “Yeah, that makes sense. Daddies are fast.”
“Fast,” Rhett agreed, jerking his chin toward me.
Mom smiled at me, her eyes bright.
“Mama,” Rhett said, reaching out to run the fingers of his free hand gingerly through Emilia’s hair.
“You’ve got the best mama, huh,” my mom said kindly. She looked at Emilia. “It took me years to be able to clean out the kids’ little scrapes and shit. Tommy had to do it.”
“Really?”
“Yep,” my mom said, leaning on the counter across from Rhett. “I got better at it, but I’m not exactly cool under pressure.” She laughed. “When Micky fell way back at the edge of the property and broke his arm, I heard him over the sound of the vacuum. I panicked so hard I almost knocked myself out on the doorframe when I was running out to get him.”
Rhett watched us, his eyes growing heavy.
“Feelin’ better, pal?” I reached out and gently ran my hand down his back. I could feel every bump of his spine. Jesus, he was so fucking small.
“Owie,” Rhett informed me around his thumb.
“I know.”
“Hopefully I’ll be better with grandkids,” Mom said ruefully. “Sorry, Rhett, you’ll be the guinea pig on that.”
“Grandma,” Rhett murmured.
“This is your grandma, too,” Emilia said, kissing his head. “This is your other grandma. Daddy’s mom.”
Rhett shook his head. “Grandma.”
“Sorry.” Emilia grimaced. “He doesn’t really get it yet.”
“He’ll figure it out,” my mom said, waving her off.
“And Mr. Hawthorne is your grandpa,” Emilia continued, laying her cheek against Rhett’s hair. “And Uncle Rumi and Uncle Otto and Uncle Titus and Auntie Myla.”
Rhett’s eyes closed.
“He doesn’t seem impressed,” I said with a quiet laugh, everything inside me freezing up at the sight of his sleeping face.
Did everyone feel like this when they had a kid? He was so beautiful, take-my-breath-away-beautiful. I wanted to count his eyelashes, measure his skull in my hands, take his shoes off so I could count his toes, hold him against me so I could feel his heartbeat beneath my hand. It was fucking weird, right? I was a fucking lunatic.