Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 60530 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 303(@200wpm)___ 242(@250wpm)___ 202(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60530 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 303(@200wpm)___ 242(@250wpm)___ 202(@300wpm)
Brody’s gone for the next two days. He’s taking a trip up to his hometown to get some things.
I’ll be there. I offer my short response without giving an opinion or insight into the above texts. Not until Sharon asks, Will he be back for the gala?
A short Yeah does the trick and the chat is filled with glasses of wine and baby emojis, from the singles and the mamas in the chat, respectively.
One glass of wine and I know I’m going to spill it all tonight.
Breathing out all the pent-up tension yet again, all I can think is: What the hell am I doing?
Brody
I still haven’t told her, because I’m chickenshit. The more my palms sweat along the leather steering wheel, the more I’m convinced I won’t be telling my mother anything until I have the results back and I know without a doubt Bridget’s my daughter. Maybe there’s some kind of telltale genetic sign when a father meets his kid. I don’t know. I don’t know how to explain it, and that in and of itself is a reason to not breathe a word of it to my mom.
“You can roll down the window if you really want,” my mother comments with a hint of humor in her tone. As she pulls back her hair into a braid she adds, “I was only joking when I said it would mess up my hair.”
“I’m fine, Mom.”
“Then I’m turning on the air,” she tells me lightheartedly.
“You don’t have to.”
“Well, if you aren’t hot … are you sweating because you’re nervous about something?” she pries. My mother is good at prying, if nothing else.
Thump, my pulse races, not liking where this is going. I’ve never been a good liar and when it comes to my mom, I haven’t gotten away with a single one. This isn’t sneaking out or causing a fight at a bar … this is something I’m not ready to talk about.
“I know I told you I wouldn’t ask,” my mother starts before I can answer her question.
“Then you should probably stop while you’re ahead,” I offer her with a tilt of my head toward the sign on the side of the road. I’m eager to change the direction of the conversation. “You need to make a pit stop?”
“I’m good if you are,” she counters and I find my hands twisting around the steering wheel again.
We’ve got hours left of her picking away, interrogating me in the guise of asking innocent questions. My gaze shifts to the clock as she turns down the volume on the radio until I can’t hear the alternative station anymore. Hours.
“How are you on money?”
That question catches me off guard and as I glance at my mother, I know it’s serious because she’s not looking at me. Her eyes are focused on the cars ahead of us on the highway. “You’ve never asked me that before.”
“You’ve never moved and dumped all of your savings into a bar before.”
“Fair point.” My acknowledgment is barely heard over the hum of the AC, let alone my screaming thoughts.
“So?”
“You don’t have to worry about me, Mom.”
“Of course I do, I’m your mother.” She offers me a pat on the thigh as I drive, and I catch a glimpse of her and note a warm smile along with a happiness in her blue eyes as she adds, “It’s in my job description.”
Easing back into the driver’s seat, a sense of comfort takes over. Partially from the fact that I now have a conversation to eat up time, one that protects Magnolia and Bridget from my mother’s prying eye.
“I have a backup plan if the bar struggles at first.”
“Does it involve cashing out the trust from your grandfather?”
My mother’s a banker. She’s as logical as they come. Not a wanderer or a romantic. She’s a numbers and logic kind of woman.
“No. I haven’t touched that.” I nearly tell her I’m saving it for when I have children but then Bridget’s cherubic little face flashes in front of my eyes.
“Well, so what then? Spit it out.”
The turn signal ticks as I slip into the left lane for an upcoming off-ramp and gather my thoughts. I have it all written down and I went over it a thousand times already, but still, I know she’s going to ask questions I may not have the answer to.
“Liquidating stocks would be first.”
“I don’t like the sound of that.” My mother’s disapproval comes complete with a frown.
“I sunk all my cash into the bar, so I don’t have much choice. I’ve got a small place down here, Mom. I’m not spending much, but if it comes down to it, I’ll need more cash to keep it afloat.”
“And Griffin?” she questions.
“Same with him.” In my periphery, I watch her nod and then I add, “We’re in this together.”