Total pages in book: 56
Estimated words: 53697 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 268(@200wpm)___ 215(@250wpm)___ 179(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 53697 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 268(@200wpm)___ 215(@250wpm)___ 179(@300wpm)
After freshening up in the downstairs bathroom, I walked into the kitchen with thankfully both my parents there. “Hey, mom. Dad. I…well, I have something to tell you before you say anything. The toilet upstairs? I forgot to tell Gabriel it was broken and he might have used it last night. Errr…I’ll call for a plumber as soon as they open. He’s really embarrassed about it.”
Mom is wearing a floral blouse and a pair of jeans so ancient and mom-like that they’re trendy again. Dad is dressed up today in a nice polo shirt and also a pair of jeans. He upgraded from the usual, holey t-shirts he loves so much. Mom can’t even throw those things away because he’ll just dig them out of the trash and pitch a fit and then return the new ones she tried to buy for him. I’ve seen it happen. Four times. Eventually, Mom just gave up.
“Oh shit,” Dad curses. He grabs the landline phone off the island. Yes, my parents still have a landline. They have cells too, but they are barely functional at using them.
“Literally,” Mom adds.
“Don’t worry, I’ll call. They should be open right away. If not, I’ll leave a message that it’s urgent. I think the parts are just broken in the tank. If they fix those, the thing should flush.”
“I seriously hope so.”
Mom turns and, while cracking two eggs into the pan at once, gives me a sympathetic, slightly guilty look. “Toilet aside, we’re slightly embarrassed about embarrassing you yesterday, sweetie. We’re sorry. We didn’t mean to.”
“We just worry,” Dad adds without looking up. He’s got the phonebook out now, and he’s browsing through the plumbing section. “We want you to know we love you and really do care about you.”
“We just want you to be happy.” Mom gets out the pack of bacon from the fridge.
Even though I feel a massive pang of guilt, I also feel the old twinge of annoyance. “But I can be happy being single. I wish you could understand that and not worry so much.”
“We get that.” Dad runs his thumb down the list of tiny printed names and numbers.
Mom walks by the counter to my dad. She takes the phonebook and flips a few pages over. “Plumbers, my love. Not electricians.”
“Take it easy on this old boy. It’s early.”
“Anyway, honey, we know you can be happy when you’re single, but we want you to find the same happiness we’ve found. Not the same, but you know. We think having a partner and a family is important.”
“But it’s not the only way to be happy!”
“We’re not worried about that,” Mom corrects gently. Her face is suffused with love, which makes it impossible to doubt the intent behind her words. “We’re worried the bad experiences from your past have soured you on giving anyone a chance for the future.”
“But I brought someone home.” I can’t help being testy even though I can see how genuine Mom is. I’m not trying to be mean, and I manage to keep a flat tone and not whine or snap. “It’s great,” I tack on. “Gabriel is amazing.” At least that, from what I’ve seen so far, is true. “I’m just saying, sometimes things don’t work out, and I don’t want you guys to be disappointed or worry. It’s…it’s a little bit oppressive sometimes.” There. That’s the closest I’ve got to telling them the truth about how I feel.
Of course, they don’t get it. “Did something happen?” Dad asks. He glances up in alarm.
“Did you guys argue?” Mom somehow manages to flip the bacon while intensely scrutinizing me.
“No. No. Both of you. I’m just saying.”
Mom just nods while Dad picks up the phone and dials a number. I go and take a seat at the table Mom already set. A few minutes later, I’m literally bombarded with bacon, eggs, toast, avocado, olives, hot peppers, sauce, and my choice of beverage.
I manage to get mom to sit down and eat too. A few bites in, Gabriel walks shyly into the kitchen.
“I overslept,” he apologizes sheepishly, and he slides into the empty seat right beside me. Mom and Dad are across the table. He leans in and gives me a chaste, super sweet, super hot (in more than one way, though the temperature of his lips is deliciously warm) kiss right along the jawline, by my ear.
I nearly drop my fork. “Morning,” I gasp.
Gabriel turns flawlessly, totally unaffected, to face my parents. “First things first, I have to apologize and tell you that I…well…I ruined your toilet.” There. Now he’s a little red in the face again.
“Don’t worry about it. I’ve already called for a plumber,” Dad says around a mouthful of eggs.
“Eat, for goodness sake,” Mom frets like Gabriel just crawled in from a thirty-day hunger strike. “Don’t worry about it at all.”