Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 71843 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 359(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71843 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 359(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
“Yeah,” he husked, giving me a trace of a smile, just the curl of his lip in the corner. “I got toilet paper. Where’s my love?”
I turned and wrapped my arms around his neck, squeezing him tight. “I love you.”
He chuckled, and it was a low, deep rumbling sound that brought out a whimper I wasn’t proud of but happened nonetheless. My response to Sam Kage, always, had an element of primal desire to it that I hoped would never go away.
“You guys are so cute,” Lucy said, sighing beside me. “I hope one day my dad finds someone he’s this crazy about.”
I wished that for everyone.
When I eased back, Sam cleared his throat, and his brows furrowed.
“What?”
“You maybe wanna run upstairs and check on Hannah.”
It wasn’t a question.
“Oh crap,” Lucy said from beside me. “I’m supposed to be helping her, but I really want to get this done, and I’m learning so much.”
“Well, you keep at it,” I told her. “I’ll run up and check on Hannah.”
She nodded, not looking up, as engrossed as I had been in what she was doing.
Sam went to the kitchen and joined Kola in wiping down boxes, breaking down others to get them ready to go out into the blue recyclable can. It was nice that everything didn’t have to be separated, other than from actual trash.
“What is this?” Kola asked his father.
“That, my son, is nacho cheese sauce.”
“This is a really big can.”
“Yeah, I know. And look how long it’ll stay good.”
Kola flipped the large can over. “Holy crap!”
“I know,” Sam said, sounding very pleased with himself. “And it goes on more than just chips,” he went on. “There’s chili cheese dogs, chili cheese fries, fried jalapenos…”
I climbed the stairs and thankfully lost the rest of the conversation before my stomach rolled over. Chili cheese fries? Really? The man needed to eat more salad.
Walking to the end of the hall where my daughter’s room was that faced the front of the house, I found her sitting at her desk with her sewing machine, staring out her picture window at the street. Both Chilly and Dobby were curled up on her bed, that was now covered by the quilt that her grandmother had recently given her. It was beautiful and, like the rest of the bohemian-style room, was eclectic and therefore fit in well. Sam often said that Hannah’s room looked like a cross between the inside of the occult shops we’d visited when we were in New Orleans and a Turkish bazaar. I liked all her capiz shell garlands, moon phase wall art, her gilt-bronze relief flowers that Aaron brought her back from Florence the last time he was there, her rainbow Moroccan-style lamp that hung from the ceiling, and the fact that there were swatches of multicolor fabric draped all over the room. During quarantine, with the help of Kola and Lucy, she had painted every wall of her room a different color. I noticed now that she was working on a complicated rose design around her closet door that was sketched but not yet painted.
It was fun to see the individual style of my children. Hannah’s room was like looking through a kaleidoscope and Kola’s was very stark, with white walls, matte black accents, and gray, white, and black bedding. His desk was black, as was the door to his closet. And everything was always in its place, a sanctuary of order. Hannah’s room gave him hives. His made her twitch. It was fun to see their faces when I suggested they switch for an evening. They had already swapped rooms years ago. Any more than that was simply crazy.
“Hey,” I greeted her when I walked in the room.
“Hi,” she said softly, subdued, not turning to look at me.
“Lucy will be up soon to help you with the masks.”
“It’s okay, I know you guys are having a good time.”
Sometimes I missed things that were right under my nose.
“She wanted to learn how to do things in Photoshop,” I explained, crossing the small room to sit down on the window seat of her reading nook. “I’m enjoying showing her.”
“I know. I can tell. You’re having fun.”
“It’s enjoyable to teach someone something.”
She nodded.
“You like it too.”
“Yeah.”
“And neither you nor Kola enjoy doing the same things as me.”
More nodding.
I coughed softly. “But you know something?”
She finally turned her big wounded eyes to me.
“It doesn’t make Lucy my favorite.”
Normally she would deflect, or pretend she didn’t know what I was talking about or shake her head or roll her eyes like I was being ridiculous. The fact that none of that happened meant that she was actually scared.
“You know why?”
Slow shake of her head.
“Because it’s the things that are different that are the most fun.”
“What do you mean?”
“We always have so many new things to talk about because we do such different things. I show you how to cook, you show me how to get out of a chokehold.”