Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 79621 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79621 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 398(@200wpm)___ 318(@250wpm)___ 265(@300wpm)
“You think they should tell jokes on the ice? You think that’ll work?”
“No, but I’m willing to try anything. Advice is welcome too.”
“I think you know what you’re doing. You just have to be patient and have a sense of humor.”
He nodded. “And that’s where the jokes come in. What’d ya got?”
I leaned against the counter, sipping my wine thoughtfully. “Hmm. Why are skeletons so calm?”
He shook his head. “This is painful. Okay…why?”
“Because nothing gets under their skin. Get it? ’Cause they don’t have skin.”
Smitty groaned while I snickered merrily.
“Nope. Can’t do it. I’ll have to think of something else.”
Buzz buzz
He balanced the spoon on the edge of the skillet and pulled his cell out. “Shoot. I better take this. I haven’t talked to Jimmy about my holiday plans. Will you take over here?”
“Of course.”
“Yo, man,” Smitty answered. “Sorry, I meant to call you back. I’ll be there. I want to check on my mom and see your family, but I can’t stay long…” Pause. “Yeah, that’s great.” Longer pause. “Oh. What’s wrong?”
I picked up the spoon and lowered the heat, shamelessly eavesdropping. It wasn’t hard to do. His friend’s voice carried through the connection.
“…baby girl. I thought I should tell you, but I don’t know. Maybe that’s weird,” Jimmy rambled.
“No, no, it’s fine. Thanks,” Smitty replied, clearing his throat. “Anyway, how are the kids? Are they excited for Santa?”
I seasoned the beef and tuned out the rest of their relatively short conversation, casting furtive glances at my lover, who seemed like his normal, relaxed self.
“Everything okay?” I asked when he put his cell away and sidled close to inspect my taco seasoning proportions.
“Yeah, it’s all good. Rachel had her baby, and Jimmy wanted me to know. So fucking awkward,” he huffed. “Mmm, nice job. Who’s cutting onions? One, two, three, nose goes.”
I rolled my eyes at the grown-ass man touching the tip of his nose like a kid.
“Fine. I’ll be on onion duty.” And I almost had the entire thing chopped before curiosity overwhelmed me. “How are you doing? I mean…are you okay with that news? About the baby?”
Smitty dried the cilantro, smiling wanly as he picked up a knife. “Yes, I’m fine. I honestly, don’t feel anything. I’m happy for Rachel, but I’m not sad for me. If that makes sense.”
“It does.”
“A few months ago, I might have wanted to get drunk or something, but…” He shrugged and continued mincing the cilantro. “My happiness isn’t attached to hers.”
I nodded thoughtfully. “That’s a healthy way to look at it.”
“I got that straight from my shrink. You know how it is when people give you great advice and helpful sayings to process everyday bullshit. In one ear, out the other. I’ve been waiting for a long time for that particular sentence to feel true. My happiness isn’t attached to hers, and it hasn’t been for a long time. But I admit, I’ve been quietly sitting on pins and needles, waiting for that call.” His voice took on a manic tone as the knife hit the cutting board with a rapid chop, chop, chop. “I thought the news would break me. I expected a knife to the heart, a punch in the gut, and a nasty pity party, but…I don’t feel it. I really don’t feel sad or empty or anything ugly or negative. I’m not jealous, I’m not pissed off, I’m just…I don’t know—I’m happy for her.”
“Good.” I left the onion and moved to his side to kiss his cheek.
“You know something else? I’m glad it ended when it did. I don’t think we would have made it in the long run, even if we’d had kids. If your relationship is primarily based on checking off items on a ‘things married people do’ list, you’re going to run into problems. No matter how legit and cool that list might be, there’s got to be more to your relationship.” He stilled the knife for a beat. “We didn’t have it.”
“Piper and I came to that same conclusion. Although according to her, our marriage would have been better if she had a dick.”
“That’s funny.” Smitty chuckled, sobering a moment later. “You know what I hate about divorce? Losing. I hate to lose. I lost a wife, I lost kids I couldn’t give her. I lost all the fucking time. I’m not losing anymore. I’m in a good place, and so is she. A second chance is a fuckin’ gift and all that.”
“You have a good attit—”
“Fuck it. Who am I kidding? I’m not okay.” He tossed the knife and leaned against the counter.
“Oh.”
“It stings. I wanted that, damn it. I wanted it bad.” Smitty’s voice broke as he tilted his chin skyward, his eyes suspiciously wet. “Not one kid…I wanted two or three. Maybe it was selfish. Maybe I wanted a chance to rewrite my own childhood. I dunno. No kid of mine was gonna worry about having enough to eat or have holes in their shoes. I would be at every fuckin’ event—big and small. Kindergarten graduations, recitals, T-ball games…you name it. I’d have moved mountains. Hell, I was ready for it. I wanted to build forts and fix tutus and learn how to braid hair. Fuck, I just—wanted a chance.”