Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 67801 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 339(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67801 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 339(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
I peeked at the time on my cell…ten minutes to go. It would give me a chance to catch my breath and do a little people-watching. I slumped into my chair, hoping to avoid detection. The amphitheater seating and semidark ambience worked to my advantage, but Thomas had an eagle eye, and he always seemed to know when I was near. I kind of loved that I was permanently on his radar, however, I wanted to surprise him. Today was special.
Thomas didn’t agree. He had a shockingly ho-hum attitude about birthdays.
“It’s just a date on the calendar. No big deal.”
I’d gasped, holding a wide-eyed incredulous expression until he’d burst out laughing. No big deal? Was he nuts? Did he not know that I loved birthdays almost as much as Christmas? Poor guy was in for a major awakening this holiday season, I mused, glancing around the roomful of geniuses busily taking notes as Thomas listed components in the nebula.
Personally, my brain didn’t compute four-syllable words with more consonants than vowels. No one here seemed to have that issue. They hung on Thomas’s every word. I spotted a couple of his ardent admirers in the first row. Chelsea, the banana-bread girl and Clive, the “mind if I walk with you to your next class?” dude sat front and center. Thomas had introduced them to me at a mixer he’d hosted at our house soon after the fall semester began. Poor Chelsea had drooped like a hothouse flower. To her credit, she recovered immediately and started doubling her recipe for his live-in boyfriend.
So…living together, eh? Yep!
I loved the old house in Pasadena. I’d always had a thing for old architecture. I didn’t mind the creaky stairs, odd-shaped hallways, and drafty rooms. The high ceilings, ornate moldings, generous windows, and the overall sense of warmth…like being wrapped in a comforting embrace…made up for the obvious shortcomings.
When Cole moved out in August, I moved in and put my condo on the market. It sold within a week. As soon as the lease for the house was up, I offered to purchase it. Between settlements, savings, and wise investments, I had a shit-ton of dough in the bank. Enough to buy the house and do the necessary remodel to bring it into the twenty-first century.
It was an easy commute for me, and it was big enough that Ezra and Holden could stay until they found new living situations. We weren’t in a hurry. We were still in the “drawing plans” phase. It might be months before we started renovations.
Thomas wasn’t convinced it was a wise purchase until I showed him what comparable properties sold for in our area. We didn’t have to stay forever, but I had a feeling we would. This was a great house to raise a family and that was something we both wanted someday.
Speaking of family, my world had expanded dramatically. Thomas came with family and close friends who went out of their way to embrace me. His folks loved me. No kidding. I’d joined Mr. Hartwell’s pickle-ball team, played tennis with Mrs. H, and made sure Thomas and I were on time for weekly Sunday dinners. And yes, I cut their hair.
I wondered if my familial enthusiasm was a tad overkill, but Thomas didn’t feel that way. I sensed he was finally building an adult relationship with his parents and maybe I helped bridge the gap. I could interpret their sporty overtures and Tabby’s self-centered demands and occasionally remind them to give him space.
Yes, I’d become an expert at all things Tabby. My experience with a pair of shears and some tea was the slice of artifice she understood. We bonded over fashion and entertainment gossip while Thomas put one arm around me and turned the pages of whatever science journal he was currently engrossed in.
I admit she was a little leery of me at first. In a twist, Tabby had a protective streak where Thomas was concerned, which I appreciated.
She and Sterling were married in La Jolla, near the Remingtons’ primary residence in a very over-the-top, ostentatious, but ultimately beautiful ceremony. I had the craziest fear that the Remingtons would invite my parents. I thought about asking Sterling and Tabby if they’d made the cut, but part of Project “Letting Go” was to grapple with old fears and ugly voices with my therapist.
I was determined not to care either way. But my boyfriend stepped in and apparently told the Remingtons that the Hartwells would not welcome the Burnses at their daughter’s ceremony. Yep, my man is a kickass dynamo.
My interviews with LGBTQ periodicals were cathartic too. I’d only done a couple and I didn’t bare my soul every time, but I was beginning to see that sharing my story was helpful to a younger generation of queer people.
And to me.