Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 101505 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 508(@200wpm)___ 406(@250wpm)___ 338(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101505 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 508(@200wpm)___ 406(@250wpm)___ 338(@300wpm)
Andi taps her chin thoughtfully. She has perfect ivory colored skin and big, expressive eyes. Her cheeks are still stained patchy red from the cold. “Okay,” she says. “Then do you think your Grams’ marbles are flattening out a bit?”
I pick up the greeting cards, barely listening to them banter back and forth. The first card is to me.
Mia,
It’s your Grams. Actually, this is a piece of paper your Grams wrote on. So this is not your Grams, but it’s her words. Welcome to my little slice of blah blah bullshit bullshit, please enjoy your blah blah. Look, kid. I expect my money in cold hard cash so I don’t have to let the tax man know I got it, understand? And remember–If you go to sleep with an itchy ass, you’re going to wake up with smelly fingers.
Grams, Out
Andi takes the card from me and reads, eyebrows lifting as she gets deeper into the note. “Alright,” she says. “Not sure if that’s symptomatic of rounded or flattened marbles, but something is clanking around in her head, at least. What do you think the butt thing means?”
“I don’t know,” I sigh. “Grams had this thing for Nigerian guys when she was younger. Apparently, they have these really weirdly poetic and kind of hilarious figures of speech that she still uses today. It’s probably some old Nigerian wisdom.”
“That’s kind of awesome,” Caroline says.
I only halfway hear her because I’m picking up the second card and I’ve already read the name at the top. Nolan Saulters.
“Nolan Saulters?” Andi whispers over my shoulder. “Like the Nolan?”
“Maybe he stayed here before me and never bothered to move the card?” I suggest.
“It’s today’s date on both,” Andi says, pointing.
Cold dread prickles up my back and my hairs stand on end. But there’s also a subtle hum of excitement behind my anxiety. I haven’t seen Nolan for two years. I haven’t seen him since I broke up with him before leaving Frosty Harbor for culinary school in New York.
I wish I could say I haven’t thought about him since, but that would be the lie of the century.
I read the card.
Nolan,
Big fan of your work. Suggestion from a casual fan, though? Hockey would be more entertaining if you all played without shirts. Possibly no pants? Also, I may be old and gray, but all the machinery still works, baby. If you ever need an experienced woman to show you a trick or two out of the history books, you know where to find me. You know, because my address is on the back of this card. Any time. Day or night. Just not Bingo night. Some things are more important than taking a ride on a young bull, after all.
P.S. I can’t see as well as I used to. Looks like I might have double booked you with my granddaughter. Whoopsie. I’d say I’m afraid to hear how mad she’ll be about this, but what will kill me has not yet been born. I fear nothing.
Enola (you can call me Grams, though), Out
Andi whistles low and slow. “Your Grams is kind of a badass, Mia. Why haven’t I met her?”
My head is swimming, so I only answer with half of my attention. “Because she doesn’t know how to behave herself. I try to keep her away from others. Like a dog who bites, or something.”
“Double booked, huh?” Caroline says. “Think she’s trying to play matchmaker or something?”
I glare at Caroline. “She’s the world’s worst matchmaker if she thinks there’s any chance of me and Nolan getting back together. It’s irrelevant, anyway, because I’m about to call her and get this sorted out.”
I’m doing my best to put on a show of semi-calm. Inside, though? I’m on the verge of losing my ever-loving shit. Nolan Saulters has been like a ghost in my mind that not even the entirety of the Catholic church could properly exorcize. Every guy I’ve dated or had a crush on has somehow reminded me of him. Every time I lay down at night and the world gets quiet, he shows up front and center, floating before me until I can’t help wondering, “What if…”
Two years ago, I briefly dated Nolan. In a few short weeks, I felt myself getting obsessed with him. I loved spending time with him and cooking with him. I loved the way he made me feel and how exciting it felt to be around him. And it also terrified me.
I had so many plans for my life, but none of them involved settling down and becoming some successful hockey player’s girlfriend. I didn’t have tagging along behind him while he traveled the country to play hockey on my to-do list. So I decided to pull off the band-aid before it got a chance to get any stickier.
It still hurt like hell. I had to change my number because I didn’t trust myself not to go crawling back to him if he asked. It had to be a clean break. No contact. No regrets and no changing my mind.