Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 90098 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90098 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Speaking of Ma, she should be here soon too. She and Dad were heading back to Florida tonight, and she wouldn’t waste a moment to dig into my personal life. Ben had started feeling better after being dead to the world for nine hours, and he’d come down, all disoriented from sleep, and bitched at me for not waking him up. Then he’d taken his spot at the bread station, and of course, Ma had noticed. She knew I didn’t date—and loved to remind me how much that “broke her heart.”
“He’s just a friend, Ma. Chill.”
“Who spent the night upstairs where you only have one bed?”
She could be so annoying.
I could be slow too, ’cause it hadn’t occurred to me to tell her that we’d moved the foldable bed into one of the spare rooms or anything.
“Can’t I keep Ziggy over here, Uncle Trace?” Chip asked. Sadly, “Unca” was slowly turning into “Uncle.” My nephew was growing up. “He won’t mess up the bags!”
I smirked and dropped another travel-size body wash into a bag. “It’s not about him messing up what I’m doing here, buddy. We can’t have pets in the restaurant. People have allergies.”
Apparently, Ben was one of them, and he’d been surprised that he hadn’t reacted to Ziggy. Then he’d also reasoned that it was mostly cats that bothered him.
Where was he?
I checked my phone. He’d guesstimated he’d be back around four, and it was…ten minutes past.
Christ.
I might have some issues to work through.
The last thing I wanted was for my past to come back to haunt me when I should be focusing on Ben’s milestone. He’d been so adorably nervous this morning, which, I was learning, manifested itself in minor mood swings. He was a man of few words, so one had to read between the lines and watch his actions. He’d washed his clothes twice, even though the first round had done the job. He’d been testy in an innocent way—like, the tension hadn’t been bad or anything; maybe cranky was a better word. Grumbly. Knee bouncing, checking the time over and over—kinda like me right now.
I was incredibly invested in my friend.
Chip came over to me and eyed all the bags as he chewed on a Twizzler. “Where do you buy this crap?”
I coughed around a laugh and ruffled his hair. “Since when is soap and toothpaste crap, punk?”
“Bath time is so boring!” he exclaimed.
“Yeah, but you don’t wanna smell,” I pointed out. “And we don’t buy this. People donate it.” Call it a principle, but I couldn’t waste money on hygiene products when people had drawers filled with shit they’d taken from hotels. It was better to reach them and let them know we could put the products to use.
Chip nodded. “’Cause they think it sucks too. They don’t want soap. Grandpa calls that something. I don’t remember the word, but it’s when you tell people they gotta do it.”
I rolled my eyes, knowing exactly what word it was. “Grandpa calls everything totalitarian—”
“That’s the word! Totaltrian.”
I looked away from him to hide my grin, but Jesus totaltrian Christ, I wanted to laugh. How fucking adorable could a kid be?
“Probably best Grandma and Grandpa are going back to Florida today,” I said, stifling a chuckle. “Your mom already calls me a bad influence.”
“I don’t know that word, and I don’t wanna know either! I’m gonna dance now!”
That was one approach to life.
Hopefully, the guy Sarah had started dating was a good egg. Chip deserved a sibling or two to terrorize. If I wasn’t mistaken, the dude had a kid already. Sarah had been more interested in sharing that there was no ex-wife involved, which I could understand. She’d been through her fair share of shit with Chip’s sperm donor, who’d neglected to mention that he was already married and had a family when Sarah had become pregnant.
“This song!” Chip stiffened and looked at me before he lit up like a Christmas tree.
I grinned. There was hope for him yet. A song about the Cubs…? He knew how to melt my heart—and it sure fucking beat the Red Sox ball cap he’d had when they’d moved here.
My nephew wasn’t growing up a fucking Boston fan.
“Do you remember the lyrics yet, bud?” I asked.
“Yeah!” He shook his butt and clapped his hands over his head. “Go Cubs, go! Hi, Chicago, what to say—go Cubs, go, they win on Saturday! Yeah, hey, hey!”
Eh, close enough.
I smiled and scrubbed a hand over my mouth, and— Someone banged on the door, so I looked over my shoulder and spotted Mom and Dad.
Which reminded me… “Chip, when my friend Ben comes here in a bit, I want you to sing that song for him.”
“Okay, but that sounds a bit weird, man!”
I chuckled and headed over to let my folks in.
Dad beamed proudly as soon as he saw Chip and heard the music.