Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 73665 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 368(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73665 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 368(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
“My mom will have a heart attack.”
“Meh, she won’t. But if she did, she’s a doctor. She’d know what to do.”
I try very hard not to laugh, but I fail. I know nothing is actually going to happen to my mom past her being in a rage for a few weeks and not speaking to me about this. So…it won’t be that much different, minus the rage. We don’t talk regularly, and she hardly ever comes over here. She just wants to control me. She doesn’t do it on purpose or to be malicious. I’ve just always let her.
“I know you’re not feeling the greatest, but why don’t I set up the printer for you tonight? We can research it for a couple of days, and then we’ll try making something. It probably needs the stuff to print with anyway.”
“My mom ordered some. It’s coming here, probably tomorrow or the next day.”
Mika’s eyes glint with mischief. Her smile is half evil, and it’s so big and wide that she gets double dimples. They remind me so much of Rowleigh in that moment that my chest starts to throb. And it’s not just the cold either. It’s all my sinuses and my thick, foggy brain.
It’s only been five days since we did the barn pick, but I miss him. It’s even worse that he’s across the world, away from home, and he’s sick too.
I wish I could text him.
Would it be right?
Would it be wrong?
I have no idea where we’re at. The whole thing has just been so wild and unexpected and strange.
Mika reads my forlorn expression as I’m sick, and I need a bed and a decent sleep with a soft blanket and a hot water bottle, pronto. Come hither, my bed, come hither.
“You need to finish eating, and we’ll get you into bed. I’m not taking no for an answer. The printing and décor can wait for another day. And don’t worry about finding another job. It’ll work out. That whole company was full of dicks anyway. Pricks. Asshole dick pricks. And I mean that in the lady way because I know you worked with all women. Ladies can be dicks, pricks, and assholes too.”
I give her a watery smile and mutter, “Thank you.”
“I’m with you, always. Everything will be fine, and we can take that darned printer and make wonderful things. Models of poops, skulls, armor, cosplay stuff. Oh. My. God. Cosplay. I bet we can print swords and helmets! Holy shit, I’m totally looking this up the second I get home!”
My body is exhausted and achy, and I can’t remember the last time I felt this nasty. I’m currently jobless, and my parents’ disregard for me is all too apparent. I know they don’t mean it. They have their own lives. I’m an adult, and I can take care of myself. They’ve always wanted me to be independent. That’s just the kind of mom and dad they are. Like all the other times, I’ll forgive them for hurts they don’t mean to inflict, but I’m not going to get brave. I’m just going to do a little bit each day to figure out who I am and what I want out of life.
Big questions.
Small steps.
It’s a lot for a head stuffed full of cotton.
Mika’s right. Soup. Bed. Rest. Tomorrow will be better.
Tomorrow, I’ll text Rowleigh. As a friend. As someone who is worried about him and…as someone who misses him. Even a get better soon would do. I don’t have to tell him that I’ve thought about him endlessly, that I’ve wished for more non-taco dates, rainstorms, and hellacious barn finds. For more late-night car breakdowns, unexpected lounges, and piano music.
More him.
Always, always more of him.
“Are you okay? You’re spacing out on me.”
“Yes!” I snap my focus back to Mika. “Soup. Ice cream. Bed. Sounds like a plan.”
She guides me back to the table like I’m going to fall over. Right now, I just might. All the heavy mouth breathing because my nose is so congested makes me totally lightheaded.
“It’s a great plan. I’ll come over and check on you tomorrow, and we’ll start kicking the future’s ass.”
Tears spring to my eyes. They’ve been watery for days because of my sinuses, but these are legit tears from the heart.
“I love you, Mika. So much.”
She sits me down, warms my soup up for me, and sets it back on the black placemat.
“I love you too, sister from a different mister. And maybe one day, my future stepmom.”
I groan and bury my face in my hands, but she laughs and pulls them away, slipping the spoon into my hand. “Eat. Let’s get you back from death’s doorstep. Summer colds are the absolute worst. We can talk shop on that and everything else another day.”
Stepmom is a strong word. I know that.