Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 89986 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89986 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
They had only ever met something with one person—one woman I was determined to see now that I was back in Los Angeles.
I just hoped she felt the same way about me after nine years of being gone.
Ana
“And when the little boy crossed the road and saw his mother, he ran to her quickly. He was so happy he cried, and the mother scooped him into her arms.”
“Good job, Brody. You didn’t need any help with that sentence,” I said.
“Want me to read the next one?”
“Yes, sir, I do. We need to get through this chapter before we’re done with your required reading for the day.”
“Then the workbook? Today’s activity is supposed to be really fun.”
“I see someone’s been peeking ahead at the activities,” I said, grinning.
“I wanted to see when the water balloon exercise was.”
“There’s a water balloon exercise?”
“No, but if there was one, I wanted to see when it was!”
I threw my head back and laughed. Brody and I fell back into the cushions of the couch before he clamored into my lap. Eight years old and he still couldn’t get enough of his mother. Most eight-year-olds were already independent and branching away from their parents, copping attitudes and throwing tantrums over the smallest of things. But not my Brody. At eight years old, he was the spitting image of his father and the kindest, smartest boy I’d ever met.
“The mother kissed the top of her little boy’s head and took him inside. And there waiting for him was a massively enormous chocolate sundae!”
“Wait. Let me see that. It doesn’t say that,” I said.
Brody giggled as I took the book from him and flipped through the pages.
“You’re being sneaky.”
“I want ice cream, with lots of chocolate and peanuts.”
“I still don’t know why you like peanuts on your ice cream.”
“Well, I still don’t know why you don’t.”
I didn’t like peanuts on my ice cream, but I used to know someone else who did. One particular person.
“Okay, okay. I hear your hint-dropping. Once we finish this chapter, we’ll do your workbook activity, then go have fun in the sun. Sound good?”
“Water balloons and ice cream?” he asked.
“Yes, if you get your work done. Now come on, you’re doing really well. Don’t get restless on me now.”
Brody finished the last chapter of the book before he scrambled down from my lap. We opened his summer workbook and answered the questions regarding the reading material and then a few critical thinking questions. Brody answered almost every single one of them correctly.
He was growing into such a smart young man.
While most kids were whining to their parents about school work over summer break, Brody loved it. He digested it all and truly enjoyed the learning process. He also played sports during the school year: football in the fall and soccer in the summer.
Just like someone else I used to know.
“Ready to go get some ice cream?” I asked.
“Yeah! Do we have balloons?” Brody asked.
“We don’t, but I think I have some leftover ones at the clothing store.”
“We won’t stay long, right?”
“Nope. Not at all. This isn’t a work visit, remember? Today is for you and me.”
“Oh good, because I was going to be okay with it and not complain, but inside I would’ve been upset.”
“Well, thank you for being honest with me, Brody. It’s important to acknowledge how you’re feeling. Thank you for letting me know.”
“You’re welcome, Mom.”
I grabbed my purse and we headed for my car. Our first stop was ice cream, as promised. Brody never enjoyed going into places like that. What he really enjoyed was sitting in the car and eating his food, like some old-fashioned drive-in restaurant. I got him an ice cream sundae with extra chocolate and peanuts, then passed it back to him before I grabbed my chocolate-dipped cone.
Watching through the rearview mirror while he ate, I studied his every movement.
The more he grew, the more he looked like his father. When he was first born, I thought it was me seeing things, trying to see Tyler in him. But as he got older, even my parents started making comments on it, saying how uncanny their similarities were. From the lilt in Brody’s voice to the two butt dimples he had in his lower back, there wasn’t a physical ounce of me in him.
Sometimes if he smiled the right way I could see myself in him. And his legs were a lot like mine, long and thicker, which would hold good muscle for football as he got older. But that was it. The rest was Tyler.
“Hey, Mom?”
“Yeah, buddy?”
“Can I tell you something?”
“Of course you can. You can tell me anything.”
“Well, my soccer coach told me that they’re having a father-and-son cookout at his house. With burgers. They have a pool and all, and he said I could come with you if that was okay, or just by myself. But he said you could come, you know, since it’s just us.”