Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 84952 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84952 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
I quirk a brow. “Excuse me?”
“Have you ever thought about pushing something the size of a watermelon out of a hole the size of a pea?”
I make a face. “No. I haven’t. But I get where you’re going with this, and I don’t appreciate the visual.” I shake my head. “I’m never having kids for sure now.”
“Oh, it’s not like you have to do the work.”
“But, like, I’ll be the cause of that. Why doesn’t anyone tell kids that in high school? You wanna ruin that pus—never mind.”
She snorts. “I’m old but not dead, Hollis. I know what you were going to say.”
“Good. Then I don’t have to say it.”
“If women lived by your motto, we’d never give birth. Humanity would be wiped out. But we don’t. Do you want to know why?” she asks.
“Because you like to have sex?”
“Because, smart-ass, we know that you have to go through some pain to enjoy the pleasure.”
My lips twitch. “Grandma Judy, I’m letting that one sit right there. I’m not going to touch it.”
“You won’t when you imagine a watermelon coming out of it,” she says smugly.
My jaw drops. “Judy!”
“That was good, huh? See? I still have it together up here.” She taps the side of her head. “I’m quick.”
“Yeah. Let’s just gently transition this conversation out of the bedroom, okay?”
She smiles. “Then I’ll get to the point.”
“Please do.”
Judy takes a deep breath. “The best things in life require work. Sometimes that means pain. You play football. Doesn’t a win taste a little sweeter after you make a comeback? Or when you score the last shot of the game that you weren’t supposed to hit?”
“Um, point made but it’s football. Not basketball. And that thing you just said? It doesn’t really track.”
She runs a hand through the air like it doesn’t make a difference. “It’s the same with having kids. You have to endure the worst pain of your life before you have them. It’s like … sometimes you can’t have the best things if you don’t prove you want it. Why would God bless you if you just walk around with your hand out like a spoiled child?”
I sit down beside her. My body calms, and my brain slows down from the race it’s been running all day.
She leans toward me, her voice low and pain-filled. “The worst time of my life—the time I wasn’t sure I could make it—is when I lost my Ronnie. Our house just burned down, and one of our sons had passed away from colon cancer.” Her voice breaks. “And he collapsed in my living room, and I couldn’t do anything for him. I called the paramedics, and they came, but he was gone. Took his last breaths in my arms.”
Fuck.
She takes a handkerchief from her purse and dabs her eye.
“Hey, now,” I say, pulling her into me. “Don’t cry. One of us has to be tough today.”
Judy chuckles and sits back up. She sniffles.
“It still hurts,” she tells me. “Every day, I think about him. I miss him so much that I think I’ll lose my mind someday over it. I work at this age because, if I don’t stay busy, I sit at home and cry.”
“Judy,” I say, my heart breaking.
“But I wouldn’t trade it. Not a single day of it. I’d live for another hundred years and miss him like this if I had to give up the years we had together.” She smiles sadly at me. “We weren’t put on this earth to be alone, sweet boy.”
“Yeah …”
My spirits sink. She makes so much sense, but it’s so much of a risk. There’s too much of a risk.
“You have so much love to give,” she says, looking me earnestly in the eye. “And you have a big old hole right here,” she says, patting my chest with her old, wrinkly hand, “for someone to fill up. Now, I have every intention of helping scoop some love in there for you. But I’m a slow scooper.”
I laugh, holding her hand to me. “You scoop just fine.”
“So does someone else I know.”
I blow out a breath as she withdraws her hand.
“Look, you’re going to be miserable either way,” she says, speaking frankly. “And I guarantee you that Larissa is as distraught as you are. So be miserable together. It’s better than being miserable alone. And if it doesn’t work out, then it wasn’t the door for you.” She leans toward me and whispers. “But I’m pretty sure it is.”
We look up as a head pops around the door. A bald man walks in.
“I’m sorry to interrupt. But, Judy, Lincoln asked me to take you to your seat. Hollis, are you ready?” he asks.
I nod.
Judy gets to her feet with my assistance. She motions for me to bend down. When I do, she kisses my cheek again, squeezing the other side of my face in the process.