Total pages in book: 187
Estimated words: 174623 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 873(@200wpm)___ 698(@250wpm)___ 582(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 174623 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 873(@200wpm)___ 698(@250wpm)___ 582(@300wpm)
The people milling around and chatting with each other seem almost normal for them despite the rush to leave the park.
I watch as Gigi, Kincaid's daughter, who was introduced to me earlier, crouches down to speak to her oldest daughter, Amelia.
This woman has five kids with her husband, Hound, and from what I saw of her interactions with them at the park, she's an incredible mom despite how overwhelming just one child can be.
"It was getting so hot," Gigi says to the little girl when asked why they had to leave before they got cotton candy. "We thought that the pool would cool us off."
The little girl, looking around Dean's age, bounces up and down, her excitement evident that there's a chance they could play in the pool.
"We just have to wait for Daddy's meeting to be done," Gigi tells the little girl before pressing a soft kiss to her forehead.
Amelia runs off with a squeal toward a group of kids to spread the good news.
They seem so happy and understanding even though their plans have changed. I don't doubt that they have the potential to have meltdowns, but it speaks to very good parenting that they can shift their schedule so easily and be happy with what they're getting despite what they may feel like they've lost.
I watch as Emmalyn leaves the kitchen area and steps out into the open area of the living room. Her eyes scan the room, landing on the kids first before moving on. She walks toward Gigi, a soft smile on her face, and it saddens me to see the love in her eyes. Not for what Gigi has, but the realization that I can't recall a single time my own mother looked at me with such devotion.
I watch as Emmalyn wraps her daughter in a hug, pressing a tiny kiss to her forehead, the same way Gigi just did to Amelia. I'm watching generations of love and acceptance, and it's so powerful to witness.
My tears are renewed, but in a different way.
Gigi takes a step back, a wry look on her face.
"I think we're going to have to get a cotton candy machine," Gigi says to her mom.
Emmalyn laughs as she shakes her head, but the woman doesn't openly reject the idea or tell Gigi that she's spoiling her kids.
Gigi walks toward the group of kids who are struggling to get some games off one of the shelves in the corner, and Emmalyn directs her attention at me.
I sit a little straighter, feeling as if this woman is, on some level, my boss, and I have to be strong and unaffected by the day's events in her presence.
I swipe at the tears on my face as she gives me a soft, sad smile. It doesn't feel like pity, but rather it holds a sense of understanding. I know from the group we had that Emmalyn was in some way a survivor of domestic violence, but I don't know the details of her story.
"Do you need anything, hon?" she asks, her eyes scanning me.
"I'm fine," I say, tangling my fingers together in my lap and trying to divert all of my fear into my palms so I can lay it down when no one is watching me.
She gives a sadder smile as if she can read me like an open book, but she doesn't call me out on the lie.
She simply holds her hand out, curling her fingers to urge me to take it when I can do nothing but stare at it.
"You're not," she argues. "But you will be. Come on. Help me in the kitchen."
I take her hand, feeling just as special as Gigi must feel to have her as a mom when she curls my arm around hers and guides me to the kitchen.
"Those kids are great until they get hungry," she says as we step into the kitchen. "They turn into little monsters if they aren't fed at regular intervals."
I smile softly at her words because each one is wrapped in love and devotion.
"We're going to make finger sandwiches, fresh fruit, veggies, and they can have ice cream for dessert," Emmalyn says. "Where are your strengths with that?"
"I can cut up fruit and veggies," I offer, feeling grateful to be given a task that will help me take my mind off my current situation.
"Perfect. Let me get the peanut butter," she says. "Fruit and veggies are in the fridge."
"Peanut butter sandwiches?" I ask as I head to the fridge.
"Peanut butter for the celery sticks because Amelia would die if she had to eat a piece of celery without it," Emmalyn says as she opens one of the cabinets. "There's also veggie dip in there and fruit dip. Can you grab the sliced cheese and deli meats for me?"
"Sure," I tell her, working on getting everything we need out and placing it on the counter.