Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 82077 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 410(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82077 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 410(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
“I did. Yes.”
He cleared his throat. “Are you keeping that?”
“Is that what you want?”
“Yes,” he rasped. “I want that very much. I always have, but now, with the kids going and it’ll be just us—somehow I want it more. I want it on everything.”
“Okay. Me too.”
“And I get why Harcourt has to stay. You know I do.”
“Thank you.”
“But as long as Kage is the last part, I’m good.”
I turned my head so I could kiss him.
“So Carwood doesn’t need a ride home. His brother and sister-in-law took him.”
“Oh good. Did you get his––”
“I got his number and a text from your son, which is why I came in here to stop you doing dishes, because apparently, there’s quite a few to do at our house.”
“Oh no. No, no, no, that’s not our––”
“He’s hosing them down in the backyard as we speak.”
“Why is he—why?”
“Apparently more people showed up than what they figured on.”
“What?”
“Harper said it was like the scene in the first Hobbit movie when the dwarves ate Bilbo out of house and home.”
“What?” I repeated.
“I mean, for one, that’s really dorky for him to use as an example, but you do get an image in your mind.”
“Oh God.”
“So come on, baby, let’s go home.”
I whimpered.
That’s all. Hope you all have a good rest of July. Stay cool and I’ll see you in August.
AUGUST 2022
Hello, all, welcome to He Said, he said, August 2022 edition. My daughter came home fuming Friday night, and since the growl that came from her chest wasn’t expected, I was surprised when I heard her banging around in the laundry room. When I peeked into the kitchen, not wanting to get too close, she was sitting in the center of the floor between the refrigerator and sink in her meditation pose, legs folded, hands in the lotus blossom position, with her eyes closed. She also had a Chihuahua in her lap looking quite content to be with the person he adored.
“Are you coming in here to talk to me or what?” she stated loudly.
Trying not to smile, I walked in and leaned on the counter beside the sink. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
“She’s not going to let me teach my yoga class at Elevation.”
I had to take a moment and rewind my brain to an audition that occurred a week ago.
My daughter had applied to teach a yoga class where she currently took them that she could do to fill the space between her morning and afternoon schedule. To me, she’d taken on more than a normal person should, and since she didn’t have to do what I had, work full-time and go to school full-time, I would have preferred her to keep sane with downtime. But Hannah was not that person. Hannah had been raised by Sam Kage, who, since she was old enough to understand, had stressed service. Service to others. If what you were doing, or learning to do, did not impact others positively, you needed to rethink that choice. What I had to sprinkle in over that was self-care.
Sam could run himself ragged and give no thought to his own exhaustion, mentally, physically, or emotionally. Sam had been raised to believe that caring about oneself, doing something that only benefitted him or the people he cared about, was not enough. You had to do more. Normally, Hannah taught classes at another studio at night and on the weekends, aerial yoga, aerial silks—which was different—and she filled in and taught Tae Kwon Do as well.
“Why won't she let you teach?” I asked. "You basically fill in when other instructors don't show up now. You're more than qualified, she must know that."
“Because she prayed on it, and Jesus told her I wasn’t a good fit for her studio in an instructor capacity.”
“What?”
She opened her eyes to look at me. “Mindi Bisbee—she’s the owner—told me that her studio is a family, and that while she wants me to be part of that family and take classes there, the teaching––” She winced. “––she just can’t see her way clear to having me do that.”
I was confused. “So you can be there, just not teach there?”
“Correct.”
“Because she prayed on it.”
“That’s right.”
“And Jesus said no witches allowed there.”
She rolled her eyes at me. “She didn’t call me a witch. She just doesn’t think I’m a good fit for her clientele.”
“There has to be more.”
“I suspect that she looked at my Instagram page and my TikTok, saw that I’m all about reproductive rights and my body, my choice, and Black Lives Matter and immigration reform, and everything that I believe in is completely at odds with the atmosphere she’s creating at her studio.”
“Okay.”
“Her father bought the studio for her, and he has his own set of values, as well as being a Southern Baptist minister.”
“You can’t lump everyone in together,” I cautioned her. “You don’t know anything about the man unless you meet him.”