Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 81843 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 409(@200wpm)___ 327(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81843 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 409(@200wpm)___ 327(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
Mimi was right. He was a dud.
She shrugs and affixes her attention back to the television. “I guess Harrison was spicy too. He just got his spice on with the physical therapist, not you.”
My jaw drops. “Mimi. That’s not nice.”
“Honey, what do you expect me to say?” She lifts her slightly bruised chin. “That’s the best damn thing that man ever did for you. What would’ve happened if you hadn’t walked in on them?” She jams a bony finger my way. “You would’ve married him. That’s what you would’ve done. Better know now than regret later.”
“I wouldn’t have married him. We weren’t even seriously dating. And you could be a little softer with your opinions. That delivery was harsh.”
She rests her head against the chair. “How was work, sweetheart?”
“Oh!” I spring off the couch. “Hang on.”
“I’m hanging …”
I return to the entryway and grab a white paper bag from my things.
Greta called me a couple of hours ago and said that Mimi was doing better, but her spirits were a little down after her accident this morning. She tried to have fun with my grandmother and take her mind off things, but she sensed that Mimi’s loss of mobility and independence was starting to get to her.
And it broke my heart.
“Look what I got you,” I say, entering the living room again. I drop the bag on Mimi’s lap and sit on the couch. “Open it.”
She eyes me skeptically. “Are you trying to soften a blow I don’t see coming?”
“Mimi, just open the bag.”
Instead of doing as I ask, she clasps both hands on the top. “You’re acting odd. What’s going on?”
“Nothing is going on. We just had a rough morning, and I wanted to brighten your day a little bit.”
“What are you not telling me?” Mimi asks, fear flashing momentarily through her eyes.
I pull my feet up and under me. “Nothing. I promise.”
She is uncertain. It hurts my heart that she expects every good thing to be tempered with something bad—even if I do the same thing. Always waiting for the other shoe to drop.
I motion toward the paper bag. “Open that.”
“It is getting warm on my legs.” She unfolds the top and peers inside. “Is this …” She jerks her face toward mine with eyes as wide as saucers. “You didn’t.”
She digs inside the bag and pulls out an Italian beef sandwich from Stupey’s, a little boutique sandwich shop. It has the best sandwiches I’ve ever eaten, and the Italian beef is Mimi’s favorite. But as delicious as they are, they’re equally expensive. We’ve not had food from there in months.
“What did you get for you?” she asks.
“I wasn’t hungry.”
“Chloe Grace …” She watches me sternly, almost as if she will refuse to eat because I don’t have something. “You must’ve spent fifteen dollars on this sandwich.”
She looks at the ceiling, perhaps considering her next words. Pride is a dreadful thing for strong women. There’s something about watching her react, watching her struggle, that settles a lump in my throat.
We sit quietly. The only sound comes from the couple above us getting into one of their typical afternoon arguments. It’ll last twenty minutes, and then they’ll have make-up sex so loud that we’ll turn the television up to drown them out. Mimi used to take a broomstick and hit the ceiling, but they didn’t care. It only seemed to make them louder.
“I know you don’t want to hear it, Chloe, but thank you for taking such good care of me.”
I gaze at the bump on her head. Yeah. It looks like I’m really taking good care of you, Mimi.
“This isn’t easy. I know it isn’t,” she says. “You should be out there having fun instead of worrying about an old fart like me.”
“Are you saying you aren’t fun?”
She laughs. “I was fun once. And I wish with everything in me that I could’ve been young at the same time as you. Oh, the fun we could’ve had together.”
I reach for her wrinkly hand. “You’re my best friend, Meems.”
She squeezes my palm before I pull it back.
“Tell me about your day,” she says, lifting her sandwich and unwrapping the foil around it. “What happened? Give me all the details.”
I pull a throw pillow over my stomach and slow the smile stretching across my face.
“I had a good day,” I say. “I got a blueberry muffin from a bakery downtown, and it was divine.”
“Nice.”
“I’m finally caught up on work.”
“Because you’re brilliant.”
“And Jason might’ve overheard me talking about how hot he is—more or less.”
She grins wickedly, reading between the lines. “I knew a pilot once,” she says, taking a bite of her sandwich. “My gosh, Chloe. This is just what the doctor ordered.”
Watching her savor her dinner is the most satisfying thing I’ve felt in a long time. She’s been losing weight and has had too little joy. This moment means more to me than any moment of the day.