Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 86126 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86126 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
“Water,” Titus announced, setting it next to my plate. “Cherry soda.” He tossed a can at his brother. “Beer.”
Mick scowled at him.
“Next time get your own drink,” Titus said easily, rounding the table to his own seat. “Hey, princess, you want some juice?”
“Appoe,” Diana replied, watching his hands as he stuck the little straw in the juice box. “Appoe juice?”
“I think it’s fruit punch, actually,” he said, gently handing her the box, holding it steady as she chased the straw with her lips. “Still pretty good, though, right?”
“So, when are you due?” Mick asked me, pointing his fork at my belly.
“I have twelve weeks left,” I replied, looking back at my plate. I needed to find a midwife soon. It was on my list of things to do the next day. Esther went to an office that was only women and I liked the idea of that but she wasn’t sure if they were accepting new patients or not.
“Do you know what you’re having?” Emilia asked, smiling over at me.
“A puppy,” I joked, making her mouth drop open in surprise. “No, I don’t know.”
“You think it will be another girl?”
“Maybe.” I shrugged. I didn’t have a feeling one way or the other.
Titus shot to his feet, startling the crap out of me, and less than a second later, I was scrambling to get off the bench as he yanked Diana out of her little seat. Before I could even get to my feet, he’d turned her and thumped her on her back. Once, twice, and then she was spitting out whatever had been in her mouth.
“Oh my god,” I breathed, finally on my feet as he thrust her toward me. “Thank you. What happened, baby?”
Diana coughed and cried, stuffing her face into my neck.
“You gotta cut the grapes, Mom,” Titus snapped, glaring down the table toward his mom. “What the fuck?”
“I cut them,” Heather replied, shooting to her feet.
“Well, you must’a fuckin’ missed one!”
“Watch your tone,” Tommy ordered.
“I sifted through them,” Heather said apologetically to me, her eyes wide with worry. “I don’t know how I missed one.”
“It’s okay,” I murmured, rubbing Diana’s back. “It happens.”
“Fuck,” Titus muttered, running his hand through his hair.
“She’s fine,” I said, watching as he braced his hands on his hips, breathing heavily. “It happens. She always eats so fast.”
“I mean, probably not the best time, but…” Emilia said from her seat. “Language, Titus.”
Titus huffed and shook his head. “Sorry, Em.”
“What’s wrong with Nana?” Ariel said, running around the table. “Is she okay?”
“She just choked on a piece of her food,” I replied, crouching down so Ariel could see her. “She’s okay.”
“Nana, you gotta chew it,” Ariel said, rubbing her sister’s back.
“I choke,” Diana announced, scowling as she lifted her head from my shoulder.
“All better?” I asked, running my hand over her head.
Diana glared over her shoulder at Titus.
“You should really say thank you,” I murmured dryly into her ear.
“Can I sit with you?” Ariel asked, leaning against me, her hand gripping my dress as I stood back up.
“Sure. Go grab your plate.”
Titus was using Diana’s spoon to sift through her plate when I set her back in her little seat.
“That happened a few times when Asa was younger,” Emilia told me as I sat back down. “It’s so scary.”
“I feel like I’m going to throw up,” I replied quietly. “I didn’t even see it.”
“You would’ve,” Mick said. “Titus moved pretty fast.”
“Thank you,” I said, meeting Titus’s eyes as Ariel reached me, her plate held firmly with two hands.
“Come here, sister,” I said, looking down at her. “You can sit on my lap.”
It was a tight fit, considering that I didn’t have a whole lot of lap to work with, but we made it work. From the moment Ariel settled in with her plate, she barely stopped talking to eat. Between bites she talked about the little playhouse Heather and Tommy had in their backyard, our room at Esther’s house, the last time Diana had choked on a bite of pancake, and how sticky syrup is.
“Does your mom let you dunk your pancakes?” Titus asked, fully committed to the nonsensical conversation he was having with my four-year-old.
“What do you mean?” Ariel asked curiously.
“My mom always cut the pancakes into strips,” he said, leaning forward on his elbows. “And gave me a little bowl of syrup so I could dunk them.”
Ariel whipped her head around to glare at me. “You don’t do that!”
“She’s not goin’ to unless you talk to her nicer,” Titus warned nonchalantly.
“Sorry, Mama,” Ariel said, kissing me on the chin before spinning back toward Titus. “I wanna dip my pancakes.”
“You don’t even like to dip your chicken nuggets,” I reminded her, watching Diana. She was pretty much just playing with her food by that point.
“Sauce is gross,” Ariel replied. “Syrup is good.”
“Can’t argue with that logic,” Mick said in amusement.