Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 71303 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71303 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
“Oh! That reminds me.” Ana fishes around in her tote and pulls out a wrapped box. “This is for Jessie.”
“You don’t have to bring a gift for her every time you see her. I still feel bad about you and Marissa paying for her dance classes and buying her a tutu, and now she’s not even interested in dance.”
“That’s okay. She should try a little of everything and figure out what she likes. Good advice for her mom, too.” She nudges my arm with zero subtlety, then pulls me into a hug. “Don’t worry about any work you missed. I’ll put in a word for you with those big grumpy men who run the company.”
I’m laughing as I walk her to the door. G, who’d fallen asleep after all the excitement, wakes up to say goodbye to our guest.
With my spirits lifted after the visit, I get back to work, first responding to my manager, who was texting to tell me about a virtual meeting this afternoon about the company’s new app that’s launching next week, and how it will impact customer service.
She scheduled the meeting so that it fits with my availability. I have to leave to pick up Jessie at 3:30, and then I do a bit more work after we get home. I’m so grateful for the company’s flexibility and their consideration for my schedule, and I’m especially grateful to Ana for setting me up with the job. Most working moms aren’t nearly this lucky.
Diving into my emails, I do my best to make up for lost time, and things go smoothly until the app meeting. I’m in the midst of it, and taking a lot of notes, when the dog scratches on the back door, asking to go outside. I gesture for him to wait, but he gives me a look and paws more insistently. When you’ve gotta go, you’ve gotta go!
I carry my laptop to the back door, so I can stay present in the meeting, and balance it with one hand while I pull the door open with the other. That done, I return to the dining room table just in time for a question from the office manager.
About ten minutes later, when the meeting’s starting to wrap up, a flash of movement catches my attention. G is still outside—oops!—and I’m surprised he hasn’t asked to be let back in. He typically only stays out long enough to do what he needs to do. Occasionally, he sniffs around a bit, but he never just hangs around out there all alone.
Splitting my attention between the summary points from the meeting and my limited view of the back yard, I catch sight of the dog again. His head is down, nose to the grass, but then he lifts up, his jaw working on something.
Oh no, what has he gotten into? Just as I’m saying goodbye to the other meeting participants, poised to log off as quickly as is acceptable, something white flies through the air out back.
As soon as the meeting ends, I rush to the back door, where I find the lawn dotted with small white balls. It’s a sunny day, so it’s not hail, and the balls are bigger than a typical hailstorm, anyway, but there are a lot of them.
And G is eating them. What in the world!?
I slide into the clogs I keep by the back door and hurry out, yelling for him to stop, but he just looks up at me, pauses for a second, then continues chewing.
There are dozens of balls in the grass. Several dozen. As I kneel next to G, I discover that they’re not actually round; they’re more like little white cubes … no, more like short cylinders.
I pick one up and it squishes between my fingers. Is it a marshmallow? I sniff it, and it smells sweet. Looking around, I confirm that all of the white objects look the same, except that there are smaller ones too. Mini marshmallows.
What the hell is going on? It’s like something from the twilight zone. A cart full of marshmallows at the store this morning, and now a yard full of marshmallows? Either we’re heading into some kind of sugary Armageddon, or Ana laced the coffee with hallucinogens this morning.
I pick up the dog, because he clearly has no intention of stopping eating these things, and carry him back to the house. As I’m walking, a marshmallow zings by me and skids onto the back patio.
Where are they coming from? The sky is completely clear, though what would I expect—a cloud raining marshmallows? A plane flying by, dropping sweet samples throughout the neighborhood?
Another marshmallow comes flying in, and I finally see where they’re coming from: directly over the back fence. Are there kids over there having a marshmallow fight? Are they intentionally throwing them over the fence, trying to feed the dog?