Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 84250 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84250 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
I was upset and grateful and angry and happy all rolled into one, and I didn't want to have to struggle through all of those emotions with a witness. If he really wants to be with me like he claims, shouldn't I allow him to bear witness to me trying to work through all of that rather than shoving him away until I was in a better place mentally?
All I know is that I probably messed up where he's concerned, but, honestly, it's no surprise. Given two choices, I'm always going to make the wrong one.
I close out the text messages and pull up Kristina's contact information, pressing the call button and putting it to my ear.
"What's up?" she asks when the call connects. "You have to wear long pants, Justin. It's cold outside."
I smile at the hint of frustration she's trying to hide in her voice. Mornings can be rough when you have to help a child get ready while also getting ready yourself.
"I was hoping you could swing by and pick me up for work."
"Sure," she says without hesitation.
"I'd need to have you also drop Larkin off with Madison."
"Not a problem. How did she like the tree?"
It's no surprise to me that she knew about the tree. After thinking about the events of yesterday, I realized that probably more than one person at the vet's clinic knew. Corbin mentioned the possibility of staying late if we had late clients show up, even though I've worked there for three years and know how it goes. I only found it a little strange yesterday until I got home and really started thinking about it.
"She loves it," I say, looking down at my little girl who insisted on eating breakfast on the floor in front of the tree. She didn't even want the television on this morning, which is unusual for her. She doesn't always watch it, but she likes the routine and noise of it in the background while she plays.
"I bet she does," Kristina says. "I was obsessed with the lights when I was little. I could sit and watch for hours. Justin doesn't even care. He complains about there being no presents under the tree, but he's the one who opened them all three years ago and ruined the holidays. I swear boys are mischievous. He just can't be trusted. Jesus, he's in a snowsuit. I'll see you in a bit."
The call goes dead, and I have to laugh because kids can seriously run you ragged. Larkin is quite content with wearing whatever I put out for her the night before. She'd stay in her pajamas all day if I let her, but I know there will come a time when she wants to pick her own clothes. I'll have to pick my battles those days like I did this morning with breakfast on the living room floor.
I've noticed that Larkin hasn't paid much attention to the gifts under the tree other than to point out how pretty it is for the tree lights to be glinting off some of the holographic wrapping paper. I realized while staring at the tree last night after Larkin went to bed that it's in fact my tree. It has the same wonky branches that no matter which way you turn it, you can’t hide the malformation. I got it for Larkin’s first Christmas on clearance. The lights on it are limited but the ornaments are shiny, making it look fuller than it really is. It's a pitiful sort when it's unplugged, but Larkin loves it and that's all that matters.
I finish my coffee even with how bitter it tastes, grab Larkin's mostly empty plate, and carry it to the kitchen. I know better than to wash the dishes before wiping her down because she'll make more of a mess in a matter of minutes.
She pulls away from me slightly when I wipe her face.
"We have a few more minutes until we leave," I explain, having learned that going from playing and having fun to let's go doesn't work for her.
Sometimes the reminder that we have to leave the house doesn't always work, but I keep providing them.
I rush to my bathroom to run a brush through my hair and pile it on my head because I lost track of time getting lost in my head.
As I'm leaving the bathroom, a knock hits my door. I figured Kristina would text or call when she was outside, and I automatically feel like a tool for her having to give me a ride and stand out in the cold.
I tug open the front door, looking over my shoulder to make sure Larkin is putting her dolls away so she can put on her jacket. "I need just a minute. I—"
My words stop when I see Walker's smiling face rather than Kristina's.