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 had forgotten what we were talking about for a minute, chuckling as I was. They were all so adorable. Harper leaned back, shaking his head at me, and Kola’s dark brows were furrowed.
“Pa, stop—I need you to be serious now,” Kola scolded.
“Yes,” I agreed. “Serious. Go ahead.”
“How much food is Jake supposed to have every day?”
What? “I’m sorry?” I was not expecting the question.
“Like, I’m thinking he’s being a total dick because he’s hungry all the time. How much of our monthly money that you and Dad send should be going to food?”
“Love, you’ve watched him eat for years.”
“Yeah, but I didn’t keep track.”
“We all three have food allowances,” Harper chimed in, sitting shoulder to shoulder with Kola on my screen. “But I feel like half of mine is spent feeding Jake.”
“Same,” Kola apprised me.
They were both looking to me to answer.
“Okay, um, let me think. He usually has breakfast, lunch, and dinner, plus a snack in the morning, a snack after he works out, and he has milk and graham crackers sometimes before bed. Other times it’s a tuna fish sandwich or he eats that mochi ice cream. The green one.”
“The graham crackers,” Harper said, exhaling. “We didn’t buy those.”
“Does he drink tea?” Kola wanted to know.
I needed to write a book. The Care and Feeding of Jake.
Clearing my throat, I said, “Boys, it’s not your responsibility to feed him.”
“If there’s nothing for breakfast because he hoovered everything down the night before—yeah, it is.”
“Is he putting on weight?”
“With how much he runs?” Kola asked like I was nuts.
“Is he sleeping?”
“Yeah. We got him some edibles.”
Jake had needed them to help him sleep over the last two years, since his parents’ divorce. His brain whirled on late into the evening if left unchecked. He’d been a longtime insomniac. Marijuana quieted things so he could rest.
“Then I suggest, since you’re both intent on taking care of him, that someone cooks and you guys set a schedule. You know with his ADHD that he has to have a daily routine, and changing it is not great. Plus, he can’t have too much sugar. That’s why one or two graham crackers is okay. But you can’t have candy or cookies in the house. There can’t be any soft drinks either, or juice. Unsweetened tea is great, water is better. That’s not to say that there can’t be splurges. You guys all have them. But at home, it has to all be in moderation.”
“And that’s what you did?”
“Jake ate what we did, and it’s not always great––”
“No,” Kola cut me off, “your food is great.”
“I miss your food,” Harper whimpered. “I miss my mom’s food more, but I miss yours too.”
“Well, your mother’s an exceptional cook, Harper,” I praised her, “but thank you. And thank you for that compliment, Kola.”
“I miss stew,” my son went on, lost for a moment, “and taco night, and how you get the green beans to taste so good.”
“You put a big ham hock in there while they’re cooking, love, that’s what does it.”
Kola turned to Harper. “That’s why those beans at the restaurant tasted so different. It was a vegetarian place. No ham hock in there.”
“That’s a shame,” Harper said with a sigh. “But their mac ’n cheese wasn’t so great either. It was watery.”
“Well, I put five cheeses in mine. That’s what causes the spiderweb of cheese when you serve it with roast chicken and the green beans you were talking about.”
They were both quiet a moment.
“Something wrong?”
“Will you make that when I get home at Thanksgiving?” Kola asked.
“Yes, love, whatever you want.”
“Okay,” Harper said suddenly, sounding resigned. “We need to make a list for the store.”
“Are you guys still on Zoom with Mr. Harcourt?” Jake wanted to know, coming into the frame dripping wet from the shower.
“Yes,” I answered the question. “Hi, Jake.”
“Hey.” He smiled at me, shaking his head, throwing water everywhere, which made Kola and Harper both yell.
They were going to be all right.
Last weekend, Hannah came home to make Mabon candles and had two new friends with her: Jalissa, who was from Cleveland, and her new roommate, Coretta, who was from a small town outside of Detroit that she told me but I couldn’t remember. They had moved in mid-month to the dorms, and class started the week after.
Both of her new friends were interested in the fact that Hannah was a practicing witch.
“Our room,” Coretta told me over coffee I made and biscotti she brought, “smells so good. She runs that diffuser morning, noon, and night, and I thought I would hate it, and she wasn’t a bitch about it or nothing, and said if I couldn’t stand it, she would stop—but ohmygod, Mr. Harcourt, it’s awesome. Our hall smells like––”
“Pee and boys,” Jalissa chimed in, shuddering in horror. “Mr. Harcourt, it’s disgusting.”