Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 87913 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87913 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Ever since Dad got home a week and a half ago, she’s been hovering like a helicopter mom with a wild toddler. He doesn’t make a move without her knowing. I’m honestly surprised he hasn’t attempted to break out of here. Then again, it takes all of his strength just to get up and use the bathroom.
“Find someone else to be your cholesterol dealer,” I grumble.
“I can’t ask anyone else; your mother has brainwashed all of you. You were my last hope.”
“You’re very dramatic, Dad.” I roll my eyes.
“Dramatic? Your mom has me on a vegan diet! Have you ever eaten vegan cheese?” His face is masked with disgust. “I can tell you right now it tastes nothing like cheese. In fact, I’m pretty sure it’s plastic. Plastic cheese to eat with plastic tofurky—whatever the hell that is—and pretend-mayo to top it off. The only food I recognize lately is the vegetables she forces me to eat every day.”
“Vegetables are good for you,” I mutter, then look to the bedroom door when a shadow fills it.
Even though I just saw Dayton hours ago when he dropped me off at my parents’ to spend some time with my dad, my body still buzzes at the sight of him.
“Hey.” He walks across the room and leans over to touch his lips to the top of my head.
“Hey, big guy.” I tip my head back and smile up at him. “Were you able to get some work done?”
“A little.” His fingers skim along my jaw.
“Dayton, I need a favo—” Dad starts, and I spin my head around and hold up my hand.
“Don’t even think about asking him.”
“Ask me what?” Dayton questions, his fingers still at my jaw.
“I brought you lunch,” Mom says, walking in, and Dad groans quietly.
“Better luck next time.” I laugh.
“What’s going on?” Mom asks, and I start to open my mouth to tell her that her husband is attempting to talk people into bringing him food, but Dad cuts in before I can.
“I was just telling Francisca how grateful I am that you’ve been taking such good care of me and looking out for my diet since we got home.”
“You do know that after thirty-six years of marriage, I can tell when you’re lying, right?” Mom places the tray she’s holding on his bedside table. “And I hope you’re not trying to bribe everyone who comes to visit into bringing you food. Jacob already told me that you said you’d give him a thousand dollars if he brought you a burger and fries.”
“Why does Jacob get offered a thousand dollars, but I don’t?” I get up and take Dayton’s hand, urging him to take my seat, then plant myself on his lap. His hand instantly covers the bump that seems to be growing by the day.
“Because I know you can’t be bought.” Dad carefully sits up as Mom adjusts the back of his bed using the remote.
“I might have been more inclined to sneak you food if you did offer me money. Now, I guess you’ll never know if you could have had a cheeseburger.”
“No one is sneaking you anything.” Mom glares at him as she moves the tray around so that it’s over Dad’s lap. “And you’re never having a cheeseburger again. The doctors made it abundantly clear that you need a complete lifestyle change, so this is it. Suck it up and enjoy.”
“Okay, honey,” Dad agrees, picking up his sandwich and taking a bite.
I fight back a smile. Mom might be the only person on the planet that Dad is afraid of, and it’s hilarious to watch the two of them. After chewing and swallowing, Dad’s eyes move to Dayton, and his gaze drops to where Dayton has his hand resting on my stomach. When Dad was finally coherent enough to talk about the fact that I’m pregnant, he told me that he’s excited. I’m not sure that would have been his response if he hadn’t had a near-death experience, but I was relieved that he didn’t use the word “disappointed” and that he wasn’t upset with Mom for keeping the news from him. I was also relieved that neither he or mom blamed me for his heart attack when my news felt like the catalyst for it.
“So, when are you two getting married?” Dad asks casually.
“Before the baby’s born,” Dayton replies at the exact same time I say, “We’re not.”
Turning to look at him over my shoulder, I frown. “What did you say?”
“Before the baby’s born, we’ll get married.” He says it as if it’s something we decided a year ago.
“We’re not getting married.” I laugh.
“We should,” he responds, and my expression turns to one of confusion.
“No, we shouldn’t.”
“Why not?” Dayton asks like I’m the one who said I never, ever wanted to get married and had a vasectomy, not him.