Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 78466 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78466 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Jory: The places your mind goes.
Sam: I like to cover the fringe areas first. The middle is easy to account for.
Jory: Got it.
Sam: I’m used to talking to you, so I have to stay on my toes.
Jory: So, he needs a new job, and maybe this next one will be one he loves.
Sam: Yeah. I mean, maybe his job is to have his own food truck. Maybe he wants to open his own art gallery where he sells the paintings he does at night. Perhaps he wants to go back to school and become an architect. I don’t know. It doesn’t sound like he does either. The point is, when I told my father that I didn’t know what I wanted to do with my life after I graduated from high school, he said, why don’t you enlist while you figure it out? That was really good advice, because I figured out that I wanted to be a policeman while I was on the other side of the world.
Jory: You’re saying if he doesn’t know now, maybe he should quit the career path that he hates and take something temporary while he goes to school or does whatever else to figure it out. Still support his family, still be there, but maybe make a bit less while he reboots his life.
Sam: Exactly. I agree the man deserves to be happy. We all do. But not at the expense of others who are counting on him. That being said, if the family has to make some changes, like tightening their belt so that he can fulfill his dream while he still provides for them, I see no problem with that. Everyone should do all that they can. I think his family can help him, and if they love him, they will.
Jory: I think he needs to have a huge family meeting first.
Sam: That’s the takeaway. First, we talk.
Jory: Look at you all grown out here living your best life. I’m so proud of you.
Sam: Just come outside with me.
Kola: I want a burger.
Jory: You can’t keep a burger down.
Kola: Let’s just see.
Hannah: I want a hot dog, and I want to light sparklers in the backyard.
Jory: I’m liking this holiday all of a sudden.
Sam: Me too. Gimme a kiss.
Happy July, all. I’ll see you in August.
AUGUST 2019
Hello, everyone, Jory Harcourt here with the August edition of He Said, he said. This month, since school doesn’t start until September, when Sam had a meeting in Manhattan during the first week of August, the kids and I decided to surprise him and fly out.
I got us rooms at the Marriott Marquis downtown, and since I knew he was busy during the day, but his nights were free, I figured we’d do the tourist thing and then catch up with him.
My kids and I walked around Times Square, and after only a few hours, I can truthfully say that I have no idea how people do that on a daily basis. It’s like being in a time loop of leaving a concert or back when I used to attend Taste of Chicago every year. What was worse was the sun beating down on us and the heat steaming up from the pavement. It was like that first blast of heat when you open the oven door. I was not a fan.
At a certain point, as I stood with B as she bought a charcoal drawing of Audrey Hepburn from a street vendor, I decided I wanted to sit somewhere with air-conditioning and drink sangria.
“There’s a theatre shop near here I want to go to,” Hannah said excitedly. “I need a Dear Evan Hansen poster for my room.”
“Course,” I agreed quickly. We’d already walked so far, and at least it was in the right direction heading back to the hotel, as it was now after five and I wanted to find Sam.
“You realize we’ve walked maybe six blocks, right?” Kola asked me, one eyebrow lifted as he smirked at me.
I shook my head indulgently, knowing better. “Listen, kiddo, we––”
“Look.” He pointed, and I saw it then, the Sephora we’d passed hours ago and then the Marriott Marquis sign. “All we did was walk in a giant circle.”
And there was West Forty-Sixth Street, the signs for Pretty Woman and Tootsie, and of course the Starbucks across the way where Hannah had gotten her trenta Pink Drink that she always ordered with light ice.
“I feel a hundred years old,” I told my son, who snickered as he put an arm around my shoulders and gave me a squeeze. “Maybe we should––wait.”
Following his line of vision, I saw my husband, their father, walking with a group of four other men, cutting through the crowd, all of them with cigars, of all things.
“Uhm,” Hannah murmured beside me. “What the hell was that?”