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)
“Yep. Absolutely,” I say, breathing a sigh of relief. “You’ll be seeing me so much, you’ll get sick of me. I promise.”
Kat sniffles again. “Impossible. I could never get sick of you. Ever.”
My heart squeezes.
“Okay. Well. I gotta go,” Kat says. “I’m gonna hang up and sob my eyes out now.”
“Okay, babe. Have fun. Call me later.”
“I will,” Kat says. “I can’t wait to see you.”
“I can’t wait to see you, too. I miss you so much, babe.”
“I miss you, too—so, so, so, so much.”
“Don’t be sad anymore, Kat. I’m here now—and I’m not going anywhere.”
She starts bawling on the other end of the line and my heart shatters at the sound of her wails.
“It’s okay, baby,” I coo. “I’m right here. Don’t cry, beautiful. I’ll see you really soon.”
“Okay. I gotta go,” she murmurs, obviously still crying. “I’ll call you later after I pull myself together.”
“Wait, baby. Don’t go,” I say. “Don’t leave like this. You’re crying.”
“No, I’m okay. I gotta go. I wanna have an ugly cry on my own.”
“Okay, baby,” I say. “But call me again soon.”
We hang up and I sit, staring at my phone for a long moment. Oh my fucking God. I love her. I love Kat with all my heart and soul. And I’m gonna tell her so on Thursday—the way I should have told her at the hospital if I’d had an ounce of sense.
Kat was absolutely right to turn me down at the hospital. Actually, I never should have proposed in the first place—I know that now. I have no genuine desire to get married—I was just trying to appease the ghost of my father—get his absolution from the grave. But fuck that. My father’s not here to disown me anymore, and even if he were, I’d tell him to fuck off. Okay, fine, I’ve got a hot baby-momma-girlfriend. So fucking what? It’s not the end of the world. We’ll figure it out. The most important thing is that I love her—I know that now. I love Kat. And when I see her on Thursday, I’m gonna tell her exactly how I feel, no holds barred—and I don’t need a fucking ring and the promise of a stupid piece of paper from the government to do it. I’ll tell her straight from my heart and soul. Oh shit. I’ve suddenly got a brilliant idea. Oh my God, I’m a fucking genius. I close my laptop and leap up from the table, a surge of adrenaline flooding me. “I’m going out, T-Rod!” I call to Theresa in the back of the house.
“Hang on,” Theresa’s voice calls from another room.
“Gotta go!” I yell, bounding toward the front door. “I’ve got something important to do!”
“Hang on a sec,” Theresa says, entering the room breathlessly. She’s holding a cardboard box.
“Sorry, T-Rod,” I say, striding toward the front door. “I’ve got something I’ve got to do.”
“Just take a quick peek at this stuff, Josh.” She holds up the box. “The movers were about to load this stuff onto the truck and I thought you might want to pull a few things out to take with you on Wednesday.”
“No. Whatever that stuff is, they can load it onto the truck.”
“But the truck’s gonna take four or five days to get to Seattle. Is there anything here you want to have with you the first night in your new house—you know, something to make it feel like home on your first night there?”
I’m exasperated. A house is just a house, for fuck’s sake—there’s no such thing as a home. But, fine. Anything to make Theresa happy. I peek inside the box and half-heartedly rummage through its contents for half a second. “Nope. Nothing I care—” I shut my mouth. Oh. Yep. There’s one thing I care about. A whole lot, in fact. I pull it out reverently. “Just this,” I say. I run my fingertip over the three smiling faces gazing back at me from the framed photo. “Don’t let them load this onto the truck—I’ll take it with me in my bag.”
Theresa nods. “I’ll put it into your carry-on—inside pocket. Don’t forget it’s there, okay? You don’t want it to break.”
“Thanks.”
“Of course.”
I turn toward the front door again. “Hey, T-Rod,” I say, turning back around to face her. Why don’t you give yourself a raise? Maybe, I dunno, twenty-five percent?”
Theresa smiles. “Thank you. Very generous of you.”
“And, hey, can you do something for me?”
“It’s my reason for living, Josh.”
“Arrange a romantic dinner-for-two at my new place in Seattle for Thursday night. Seven o’clock. I’m talking a top-rated chef, a waiter in a tux, flowers everywhere, candles all over the place—the whole nine yards. You know, a five-star-dining experience, but right in my own dining room.”
“No problem. But the truck won’t be there with your furniture until Saturday. I’ll have to rent some furniture for the night—at least a table and chairs.”