Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 102620 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 513(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 342(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102620 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 513(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 342(@300wpm)
“Oh fun,” he says, saying whatever he needs to in order for her to smile.
“It’s more than fun. We can have book clubs together in the same house, and she can come over for dinner.” Her eyes light up. “We can have girls’ night at the bar.” He groans. “Isn’t that going to be fun?”
“Baby,” he says, his head going back, “it’s not going to be fun. It’s going to be the opposite of fun.” I can’t help but laugh at him. “But it’s fine.”
“See?” One hand lets go of his arm and holds his cheek. “Told you it’ll be fun.”
“I can’t wait,” he mumbles.
“Okay, I have to go,” I tell them. “I’ll keep you posted.”
“I’ll call you later,” she replies and quickly hangs up.
I spend the rest of the night working on some contracts I have going on. I’ve been a graphic designer for the past four years, graduating with a bachelor of arts degree. I got a job as soon as I graduated with a commercial real estate company. I would design all of their spaces, and slowly, I branched out doing jobs here and there on my own, building my portfolio. I went from creating brand logos to creating billboards in Times Square. When I finally had enough clients under my belt, I left, and now I work for myself. I have all types of clients, from restaurant designs to corporate companies who need brochures made. Being able to create things is the best, and I’ve been good at it since I was twelve, when my parents let me have my way with my bedroom. I thought for sure I would go into interior design, but this was much more fun for me. Sometimes I even get to do both of them at the same time. Those are my favorite projects. I have a couple of builders who have the houses all ready to go, and all I have to do is design the catalog with furniture and all.
I’m closing down my computer by 8:00 p.m., which is a new record for me this week, when the phone pings. I grab it from my desk and look down to see my mother texted me.
Mom: It’s been a while. I’m trying to give you space. Would like to hear your voice. I love you.
My heart tightens in my chest at the same time as my stomach lurches. It’s been over two weeks since I found out the truth.
I don’t know why, but I take the phone and call her instead of ignoring it. She answers after one ring. “Sierra,” she says my name as if she’s never said it before.
“Hi,” I reply, closing my eyes as I hear her softly sob.
“Um.” She clears her throat. “How are you?”
“I’m okay,” I answer softly, “just”—my own tears start now—“I needed some space.”
“I know, your father said you would call when you were ready.”
“I think we should talk,” I repeat the words my therapist has had me practicing for the last week.
“Of course, name the time and place.”
“How about we meet for coffee?” I suggest, not really wanting to go back to the house just yet. “Tomorrow morning.”
“That sounds fantastic. I’ll text you in the morning.”
“Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“I love you, Sierra,” she states, and I close my eyes.
“I love you too, Mom.” The minute I say the words, she cries even harder.
“I didn’t think you would ever call me that again.”
“I’m sorry I stormed out,” I tell her. “It was a shock.”
“I know.”
“We’ll talk more tomorrow,” I assure her.
“Will do,” she says. “See you then.”
I hang up the phone and head upstairs to slide into a bath. After the past two weeks, I need to pamper myself.
I hear the soft bells of the alarm, and my eyes fly open. I’m on my side in the middle of my king-sized bed with five pillows surrounding me like a cocoon. I slip my hand out from under my head to grab the phone and turn it off. Before closing my eyes again, my eyelids feel like they weigh over a hundred pounds.
It takes a minute of me telling myself that I have to get up. My eyes slowly open and close before finally staying open. I toss the covers off myself, getting out, and slipping on my pink slippers before grabbing the long gray cashmere robe.
I finish in the bathroom before grabbing my phone from under my thick plush white duvet and walking down the stairs to the kitchen. I open the shades in the back before starting my coffee. The smell fills the small kitchen before I walk over to the fridge and grab the milk. Pouring the milk in the frother, I press the button and then put the milk back. I contemplate making myself something to eat, but I close the fridge. I head over to make my coffee, making sure the milk is hot enough before adding it to my cup. I bring the mug to my lips as I look out from the kitchen window, seeing it’s gloomy outside.