Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 111732 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 559(@200wpm)___ 447(@250wpm)___ 372(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111732 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 559(@200wpm)___ 447(@250wpm)___ 372(@300wpm)
“No, she’s the same age as everyone else,” Marnie says. “Ripley was a preemie, so she was itty bitty right from the start. And then, it turned out my tiny preemie had a congenital heart defect that required immediate surgery. And then several more over the next two years.”
“Oh, wow.”
“Each time Ripley had another surgery, she lost out on some precious growing time. Her doctor says she’ll catch up, eventually. But just in case she doesn’t, I always tell her, ‘The best things come in tiny packages.’”
My heart is squeezing. “Ripley definitely proves that in spades. The kid’s a spitfire. Just like her mommy.” Marnie’s cheeks flush at my compliment. But before she’s said anything in reply, I ask, “How’s Ripley’s ticker doing now? All good?”
“All good, thank God. She’s a fighter, that one. A true inspiration.”
A giggling group of costumed kids appears before us again. We compliment the kids, as before, and a moment later, the teacher rings a bell and calls the kids to the carpet for story time.
With a squeal of delight, Ripley races to me and grabs my hand. She leads me to a colorful carpet, where, suddenly, I’m swarmed like a sugar cube in an ant colony. The teacher approaches and asks me to kick things off by reading a book to the class.
“I should get to work,” I stammer.
“I’ll find a short one for you to read,” the teacher says.
I look at Ripley’s excited, expectant face. “Yeah, okay. Just one, though.”
A cheer of triumph erupts from the kids—but nobody is cheering louder than little Ripley.
At the teacher’s prompting, the kids sit “criss-cross applesauce” on the carpet, while I get myself situated in the world’s smallest chair. As I open the book, I shoot Marnie a look that plainly says, “Fuck my life,” and she chuckles in return.
After clearing my throat, I begin reading the book handed to me, much to the kids’ delight. And much to my surprise, I actually start getting into it about midway through. So much so, I start experimenting with silly voices for the characters. One for the gopher. Another for the fish, and so on. And the kids simply can’t get enough. By the time I reach the end of the short book, I feel like a rockstar, based on the kids’ cheers and hoots.
Not surprisingly, my audience fervently demands another one. But luckily, the teacher shuts down the mob and thanks me for my valuable time.
“Be good, kids,” I say in parting. “Stay in school.”
“We can’t leave,” a random kid deadpans.
Another one adds, “We don’t know how to drive.”
Laughing, I head to Marnie at the edge of the colorful carpet, and we wave goodbye to Ripley and stride toward the front door together.
“That was quite a performance,” Marnie says. “You made their day.”
“It was actually pretty fun, once I got going.”
As we step outside into the cool morning air together, Marnie says, “Sorry that took so long. I’m sure you’re chomping at the bit to get back to your car and into the office.”
“Not really,” I admit. “When I get back, I’ll have to tell my boss the truth about our so-called engagement.”
“I’m sorry, Max.”
“It’s okay. You’re protecting your kid. That’s admirable.”
Marnie opens her mouth like she’s going to say something . . . but closes it sharply. Is she feeling tempted to say yes to family camp? That’s how it feels. Although maybe that’s only wishful thinking.
We load into Marnie’s car and pull out of the preschool’s parking lot. For several minutes, we drive in silence toward her father’s house where my car is parked.
“Sorry to bring up my father again,” I say after a long silence. “This will be the last time. But would it be okay with you if I don’t tell him the truth about our engagement for a few days? He left a voicemail this morning demanding I call him back, and when I do, probably later this morning, I think it’d be fun to let him keep thinking we’re engaged for a while. I’ll tell him the truth in a few days or so, but I’d like to torture him for a bit first.”
“Fine with me. But will he maybe find out the truth from your boss sooner than that?”
“I doubt it. They’re acquaintances, but I don’t think they’re in regular contact.”
“What will you say if you talk to your father and he says, ‘Hey, son, guess what? I’ve fucked your fiancée’? Do you think you’ll feel tempted to admit the truth to him then?”
I scoff. “My father can’t admit that to me without risking me going straight to his wife. I’m the one who outed him with my mother, so why wouldn’t I do it again, as far as he’s concerned?”
Marnie looks sympathetic. “Your mom told me about that. She said your father wanted you to keep his secret, but you refused.” She exhales. “I’m so sorry he put you in that position, Max. Especially as a child.”