Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 78108 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78108 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
But I can’t linger in this fluttery little interlude. Time to set these shudders aside and face that weird place in every child’s life when they become the comforters of their parents. I hope Mom’s not in a bad place. I hope I can give her the support she needs.
We head into the café at The Ladybug Inn, where a silver-haired woman greets us wearing striped glasses and an apron that says, “I’m Pear-Shaped and Pears are Awesome.”
“Welcome to the café at The Ladybug Inn. We have the best ladybug pancakes below the arctic circle—” She breaks off and her eyes pop out. “Monroe Jameson Blackstone! Am I seeing things, or is it the good doctor’s son?”
His lips twitch like he’s fighting off a cringe before he manages a smile. “That’s me.”
“Why don’t you ever come back and see us?” She wags a finger, punctuating her playful demand, then scurries out from the hostess stand to throw her arms around him.
Monroe doesn’t look as uncomfortable as I bet he feels. “Just busy in the city, that’s all. But good to see you, Agatha.”
“Ridiculous. You’re never too busy to come back home more,” she chides, keeping that hug going on and on.
Finally, Agatha releases him but not without a last reprimand. “Get that doctor butt home again soon. You hear me now? You should be seeing your dad more often.”
Before Monroe can answer, I cut in, smiling brightly. “It’s just so hard for him to get away,” I say as I clasp his arm like a proud friend. “His clients adore him and depend on him. He can hardly leave.”
Agatha whips her gaze to me. “Where are my manners?” She quickly introduces herself, then says, “And of course his clients love him. He’s a Blackstone. Now, were you after a table for two?”
“Three,” I reply. She grabs some menus and gestures to a booth at the back. We follow, weaving through the charming café, where everything’s decked out thematically with red tablecloths and little bug illustrations as well as ladybug art on the walls—photographs alternating with illustrations.
“Here you go. And you be sure to come back for Christmas. With your dad retiring, he’ll have all this free time, and he’ll need you.”
On that do-more-for-your-dad note, she returns to her post. Monroe inhales deeply, then blows out a big breath. My heart aches a little for him.
“Ironic, right?”
With his jaw set hard, he meets my eyes. “When I was a kid and needed him, he was too busy for me. But no one knows that because…”
“Because they see him as this brilliant surgeon from Darling Springs,” I supply.
“Exactly. He barely spared a second for me after my mom died,” Monroe rage-whispers, “but somehow I’m not here enough for him?” Then he quickly shakes his head, like he needs to eradicate those notions or perhaps just gain some distance from them. “But enough about me. You ready to see your mom?”
He’d almost always rather talk about someone else. I smooth a hand over my shirt. “To give her a pep talk after a breakup? As ready as I’ll ever be.”
“Talk about irony,” he says.
A laugh catches my attention, and I snap my gaze to the doorway. There is my mom, smiling brightly, laughing with Agatha, looking nothing like Mom.
Agatha gestures to us, and Mom breezes in wearing not-mom jeans.
A not-mom shirt too. And not-mom shoes. It’s like she stopped shopping for clothes at the same store where she buys her groceries and went to the boutique where the cool kids shop. She’s dressed in high-waisted flare jeans, a wine-colored scoop-neck top, and platform Converse sneakers.
Her bangs have grown out, and they’re swept into beach waves.
“Hello, sweetheart,” she says, reaching the table. I pop up, and she draws me into a hug. “You look amazing. Radiant. Glowy. Thank you for meeting me.”
“Anytime and thank you. Also, what’s with the fashion makeover?” I blurt out when she lets go. Because this whole glow-up is throwing me off.
“Oh, this?” she asks, plucking at the jeans like she’s just noticed what she’s wearing. “Thanks. I hired a stylist.” Before she can say more, she turns to my companion. “I’m so glad you could make it, Monroe. When Juliet told me you’d be coming, all I could think is that makes a good thing even better.”
What is this good thing? I need to know, and I need to know, stat.
“You’re looking great, Harriet,” Monroe says. “It’s a pleasure to see you again.” They’ve met a few times through Sawyer, but she also knows him from the podcast. “And it looks like divorce is treating you well.”
I love that he doesn’t say I’m sorry you split. He doesn’t offer a sympathetic frown. Instead, he embraces the changes in people’s lives. It’s the therapist in him. But I’m having a hard time embracing this new fashionable mom who’s dangling a good thing in front of me.