Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 91461 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 457(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91461 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 457(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
“He always forgives me,” Hannah whispered.
“I was wondering why he already sent me his part of the rent,” Kola husked. “I should come over there and––”
“Maybe give him some space,” Sam suggested. “And that’s not to say we don’t want to see you when you can, or Hannah when she can, because he works a lot, and you’re becoming a doctor, and Hannah, you’re busy too. I don’t know when you all see each other now.”
“In passing, at night, on the weekends,” Kola murmured.
“I miss him,” Hannah said, sounding sad and a bit broken. “What am I supposed to… I want to talk to him.”
“I would wait. It looks like he hasn’t slept and…he’s been crying. He looks rough. This all needs to sit for a minute.”
“That’s fine, but we’re all gonna be over there a lot and––”
“For Sunday dinner and anytime between then and now,” I told my daughter. “This is your house, you know that, but everyone is going to get the space they need.”
“That’s good,” Hannah rushed out. “Ohmygod, I so prefer him with you two than home with his father or with friends I don’t know.”
“Yeah, true,” Kola agreed and then took a breath. “His mug’s over there, huh?”
“It is.”
“I fucked this all up,” Kola muttered. “I screwed up with Hannah and now with Jake. I’m so stupid. I just––”
“There was no way to win,” Sam told him. “One of your oldest, dearest friends and your sister are in flux. There’s really no upside.”
“No,” Kola agreed. “Okay. Hannah’s gonna make us brownies, so…love you guys.”
“Love you back,” Sam said, and then to Hannah, “And love you too, bunny.”
“Me too,” she whispered and then hung up.
I turned to Sam. “Well, this is gonna be interesting.”
“It’s gonna be something,” he agreed with a grin.
That’s it for July, all. Hope the rest of yours is good. Let’s all be safe out there.
AUGUST 2025
Hello, all, and welcome to He Said, he said for August 2025.
Now, I know you’re all very interested in finding out about my daughter and the man she loves, but first… I have to tell you about the oven.
To begin with, her name was Bertha. Did I ever tell you the oven’s name was Bertha? Probably not; what would have prompted me to do so? Anyway, not important. The important part that I must stress to you is that I wasn’t even cooking. Or what I mean to say is, the oven was no longer on. Had not been on for a good fifteen minutes. But Bertha got hot and stayed hot for a bit, so I suspect that’s why I called her Bertha. And I know that makes zero sense, but it’s a thing.
I texted my husband: The oven exploded and I almost lost my face.
Now, I was a little surprised that there was no immediate text back. So I texted and asked him if he even liked my face. Was that ridiculous? Yes. Was I still in a bit of shock? Yes again.
Moments later he came back with: Of course I like your face!
I was happy to hear it.
Immediately I got another text: Which one? The standing or the stack?
The thing is, at the end of the kitchen on the right, if you’re walking in from the garage, there are two ovens stacked on top of one another. The top one is a microwave—which we’ve replaced twice—and the bottom is a regular oven with warming drawers underneath. Sam and I had those put in when we bought the house from Dane all those years ago. We had to, as I needed two ovens and we needed a microwave. Originally, Dane didn’t like—and still doesn’t, in his home or any others—the over-the-range microwave vent. He doesn’t think, no matter what anyone says, that they provide enough aeration. So he had that all removed and replaced it with a fancy under-cabinet copper range hood. In his defense, it does work really well. But Dane did not replace Bertha, who had come with the house when he bought it. As he never lived in the house, he had no idea that she had a funky handle. More on this later.
I sent back to my husband: Bertha is dead.
At which point he called me. “What are you talking about?”
“Bertha.”
“Oh, the stove,” he said.
“She’s a stove, range, whatever, on top and an oven underneath.”
“Yes, you’re right. Sorry.”
I was quiet a moment.
“Where are you now?”
“I’m outside in the yard.”
“Why?”
I thought I’d made that clear. “The oven exploded and I almost lost my face.”
“Start from the beginning.”
“Wait, I have to say something to the firemen.”
“There are firemen there?”
“What part of the oven exploded did you miss?” I snapped at him, which was bad. “I didn’t mean to growl at you. I’m just a bit freaked out. I’ll be right back.”
The firemen asked me if I wanted the oven in the house or out, and I asked them if they would please take Bertha to the curb, and without even questioning me, they said of course. I have always loved firemen. They’re always there to help. You never hear of anyone protesting them, and they pull kittens from trees, for goodness’ sake. I moved then and took a seat on the steps leading down from my back deck to the yard and resumed my conversation with my husband.