Total pages in book: 57
Estimated words: 53605 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 268(@200wpm)___ 214(@250wpm)___ 179(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 53605 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 268(@200wpm)___ 214(@250wpm)___ 179(@300wpm)
“Are you alright?” she asks in that tone that lets you know she doesn’t really want to know.
“Yep, good as gold.” I smile, swiping the back of my sweatshirt sleeve across my lips. Slinging the strap of my military-green canvas backpack over my shoulder, I march with my head up toward the door which she is holding open with eyes hopeful that I will walk through and not say anything else.
“It will be okay,” she adds as I brush by, knowing my way to the elevator by heart after experiencing the hospitality of the attorneys making a thousand dollars an hour. Their efforts, unfortunately, failed to save my friend from prison and from losing everything we have.
On top of the shit stain cobbler that today already is, I now get to go to my new stepmother’s house and celebrate the elopement of her and my father that took place on a cruise they took last week.
I don’t care. I want my dad to be happy. But today of all days, all I want to do is go home, eat a ton of rocky road ice cream, cuddle Taylor and cry myself to sleep.
Except the ice cream and the freezer it’s kept in have probably been seized by the plaintiffs in the civil suit.
I dive through the closing elevator doors, the toe of my cowboy boot catching on the metal edge. I stumble into the crowded box and nearly ram face first into a rather unhappy looking Uber Eats delivery gal holding a takeout bag with “Lee’s Golden Garden” printed on the side.
“Shit, sorry. Not my best day.” I smile and do what I can to right myself and disappear into the corner as the doors slide shut and the scent of mushu pork makes my stomach turn sour.
I don’t miss the eye roll and the look the suited legal eagles give met.
I cock an eyebrow at one of them, on a sniff and a nod with my best Godfather ‘sup’ imitation, then add a half curtsy in my black yoga pants and 2XLT gray hoodie which looks more like a dress on my four-foot eleven frame.
Besides the vomiting, oversized hoodies have become another close friend. They are the best at hiding my growing baby bump and sort of give off an ‘I’m not really here’ vibe, which makes me feel invisible.
I like invisible.
It’s pretty much how I felt going to school. I was never part of the popular crowd, but I wasn’t picked on either. I have always been short and I think people just sort of forgot I was there, which suited me fine.
Mason and I met when I was hiding in a cement culvert, humming and writing down song lyrics on our lunch hour in fifth grade.
He wasn’t as lucky as I was. He was a target from as far back as I can remember. But that day, in that culvert, he was out of breath from running from his tormentors and there I was, hogging the best hiding place at Jonson Elementary and he looked so desperate.
“Can I hide in here with you?” he asked, swallowing and looking over his shoulder, his left eye already starting to swell.
With one nod, and an hour of him telling me I should be a country music star, we were best friends.
Still are. Only, I won’t be seeing him for seven to ten years, maybe less with good behavior. Damn it, Mason. What were you thinking? You’d never so much as lifted a candy bar from a corner store before you milked nearly a hundred-million dollars from clients into an investment portfolio that was built on a slimy, slippery slope at best.
When the doors slide open and I step into the bustling lobby, people are tapping their phones and looking annoyed like today is any other day. Today is the day I officially become a mother-to-be. Being a surrogate definitely woke up my material feelings, but I made a deal with Mason and I intended to keep it. The baby was his, I was surely going to be a very special Aunt or whatever, but full blown motherhood, and single motherhood, was not on the dance card.
My hoodie hides my “condition”, but the doctor said I’m one of the lucky ones that hasn’t popped out much, but she assured me I will. Maybe it’s my short stature or the bit of a belly I had to begin with, but unless I’m naked and doing the back arch slash belly rub, no one would know I’m two thirds into my journey toward bringing a baby into the world.
A baby that was never supposed to be mine. I’m a virgin. Unless you consider the metal instrument that was used to secure the embryo into my womb as doing the deed. On the street, cars are zipping by. Since the weather is amazing today, downtown Spokane is flooded with more people than usual. Fire colored leaves are scattered on the gray sidewalk and float in the breeze from the trees planted in open dirt squares along the street’s edge.