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)
I roll my eyes. “That’s a little extreme, don’t you think?” I laugh. “I mean, ever is huge.”
“We have to pick up a couple of things, and then we’ll head home,” she explains. “Don’t talk to anyone or answer the phone until I get there and wish you a proper happy birthday.”
“Got it,” I tell her. “But can you hurry up? I’m starved since you told me not to eat.”
“You can go into the kitchen and have one cupcake,” she whispers like someone is going to hear her, “but only one.”
I smile as I listen to her whispering as if it’s going to be a secret from everyone else in the world. “You are too kind.”
“Bye, angel,” she says. “I love you.”
“Love you too, Mom,” I reply, hanging up the phone. I turn to walk downstairs when I remember I wanted to get a special picture from their wedding for their anniversary coming up in a couple of months.
I walk into the spare bedroom on the side, grabbing the white stepladder from the closet before going to the attic stairs. I open the ladder and have to climb up to the third rung before I can reach the latch and pull it down. I step off the ladder and move it to the side to climb the wooden ladder built into the door.
Moving up into the attic, I duck my head until I’m standing inside. Looking at the right side, I see the Christmas decorations ready to go in four months. Taking another step in, I see blue bins stacked on the left-hand side, all with my name on them. Mom’s kept pretty much most of my outfits since I was born. I take a couple more steps in and see she has all my school stuff in white bins. It’s only three bins. Thankfully, she didn’t keep all my art projects. But they are condensed and labeled by school year. I shake my head as the phone rings again, and when I take it out, I see it’s Lilah calling.
“Hello,” I answer, putting the phone to my ear and smiling. Lilah and I became friends when we were both sixteen years old, and we joined a fan fiction group for our favorite author, Cooper Parker, who writes cozy mysteries. We would comment on the same post and then quickly started chatting in private messages. To this day, the minute Cooper Parker puts out a book, we take the day off work and read it cover to cover on FaceTime, discussing it chapter by chapter. It once took us fourteen hours, but it cemented our friendship, and when she got kidnapped last year, I rushed to be by her side. Even though our friendship is mostly online, she’s my best friend.
“Happy birthday!” she shouts out with happiness as she proceeds to sing to me.
I laugh. “Thank you,” I say, taking a couple more steps in and trying to spot the box I’m looking for. I see things that are my dad’s when I spot a box with wedding written on it.
“What exciting things are you doing today?” she asks as I stop in front of the box.
“Right now, I’m”—I look around the attic—“in my parents’ attic, looking for a picture from their wedding day so I can get it painted to match the other portrait.”
“I love looking at old photos. Okay, I have to go, but I just wanted to make sure I called you and told you I love you.”
“Love you more,” I tell her. “And tell Lucy I got her birthday video this morning, and it’s the best video I’ve ever gotten in my whole life.”
“She wanted to call you this morning first thing when she looked at the calendar on the fridge, but I pushed her off by filming her singing to you. She’ll force me to call you tonight.” She laughs. “I’ll speak to you then.”
“I can’t wait.” I smile, thinking of Lucy, her stepdaughter, and the infectious happiness she brings into your life with just one conversation. “I’ll talk to you then.”
I hang up, putting the phone back in my pocket, when I get on my knees and pull open the brown box. The white book on the top has my mother’s and father’s names, Marian and Joseph, on the cover in elegant cursive writing in the middle.
I smile, taking it out and opening to the first page, where my mother’s writing appears. She wrote their names and the wedding date as if they would forget such a momentous occasion like that. I flip the page and start reading the well-wishes people had written. Some are just the names; others are advice for a marriage. I laugh out loud when I see one of my uncles wrote, “If she asks you what twice, don’t repeat it the third time.”