Total pages in book: 134
Estimated words: 132464 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 530(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132464 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 530(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
I stare at Louise dumbly. “Kat sent everyone away?”
“Mmm hmm. She left a note explaining the new plan. It’s in the kitchen. I’ve got a few birthday presents waiting for you in there, too. Come on.” She hands Gracie to me and the three of us make our way into the kitchen. When we arrive, Louise hands me a rectangular box off the counter, wrapped in bright yellow paper and a bow.
“Thank you,” I say. I hand her Gracie and unwrap the box to find a genuine treasure awaiting me. “Wow. ‘Barrique de Ponciano de Parfidio,’” I say, reading the label on the elegant—and rare—bottle of tequila. “Lou, this stuff is really hard to come by—a total collector’s item. How on earth did you get it?”
She shrugs. “Oh, just a little something called the Interwebs.”
“Thank you so much. I’ve tasted this stuff once before a long time ago and it was fantastic. Thank you.” I kiss her on the cheek, and as I do, Gracie reaches for the scruff on my chin so I take her back from Louise.
“It’s from the whole family—the boys, too—we all chipped in. Even Keane.”
“Even Keane?” I ask, laughing.
“Even Keane. So that tells you where you rank in this family’s pecking order. Pretty darned high.”
“Wow, I’m totally honored. I’ll call everyone and thank them tomorrow—but will you tell them I got it and loved it?”
“I sure will. Ryan said you better save him a couple shots of that stuff, by the way, or he’ll never forgive you.”
“That goes without saying—not just for Ry, for everyone. Maybe we can do a foosball-tournament-tequila-tasting-dinner later this week?”
“Great. It’ll be your belated birthday party. What would you like me to make?”
“Oh, everything you make is great.”
“It’s your birthday, honey. Pick what you want.”
“Spaghetti, then,” I say definitively. “My favorite.”
Louise smiles. “You got it. Plus extras for the birthday boy.”
“Hot damn. You know I love my extras.”
Louise giggles and hands me another box. “This one is from Ryan, specifically.”
I open the box and it’s a crystal shot glass, etched with the name “Lambo.”
“Ry got himself one engraved with ‘Captain’ so you two can sit out on the patio like lovebirds, watch the sunset together, and drink your new tequila.” She rolls her eyes. “Ryan’s truly talented at giving gifts to others which actually turn out to be gifts to himself, isn’t he?” She grabs a gift bag off the counter. “And this one is from me. Just a little trinket.”
“This is all too much, Lou,” I say. “Really.”
“Oh, no. This is just a little nothing. Hardly anything at all. I saw it and thought of you.”
Gracie bats me in the face so I shift her in my arms and pull out the contents of the gift bag. A lump rises in my throat at the sight of my gift—a coffee mug, emblazoned with the phrase, “World’s Greatest Son-in-Law.”
“Thank you,” I say, hugging Louise with my free arm.
“Whenever you have a cup of coffee, you’ll be reminded how much you’re loved, honey.”
I bite my lip. “Thank you.”
Louise waves her hand. “You’re impossible to buy presents for, you know that, Josh? What do you get the guy who has everything?”
I motion to everything I just opened. “All this.”
“We all just wanted you to know how much you’re loved, that’s all.”
“Thank you. I feel it. I love all of you, too.”
Louise wipes her eyes. “So, enough of that. You never intended to spend your birthday hanging out with your boring mother-in-law. Gimme that baby.” She grabs Gracie from me and hands me an envelope off the counter. “Here you go. Kat asked me to deliver this to you exactly at six.”
I look at the clock on the kitchen wall. Six on the button.
I open the sealed envelope and immediately smile from ear to ear. There’s a poker chip inside—and a typewritten note: “Happy Birthday, my darling, beloved Playboy with a Heart of Gold!” the note reads. “Sorry-not-sorry, but our romantic dinner-for-two-and-a-half has been cancelled and donated to a very good cause (namely, getting Colby laid by the hot physical therapist he’s been drooling over for the past two months). The Playboy and The Party Girl with a Hyphen can’t stay home like old farts on the Playboy’s thirty-fucking-first birthday! Hell no, old man! We can sleep when we’re dead! Go big or go home! YOLO! It’s time to party like it’s 1999! (Well, until about midnight, that is, since that’s when Gracie’s been waking up lately for a feeding.) So get into your fancy new Ferrari and get your YOLO’d ass to this address, PB.” It’s an address in nearby Kent. “Because, Playboy, I feel the need—the need for speed! XOXOXOXOX Mrs. Katherine Ulla Faraday. P.S. I’ve always wanted to fuck the winner of the Indy 500!”
I look up from reading the note, my cheeks hot, my dick tingling.