Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 111165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 556(@200wpm)___ 445(@250wpm)___ 371(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 556(@200wpm)___ 445(@250wpm)___ 371(@300wpm)
Daryl also started out as a Marine in a longline of marines until a leg injury put him on a different path. Naturally his daughter ends up being a rocker who goes to the east coast with the first guy she fell in love with just to escape him and his teenage son is grappling with his sexuality and the apparent consequences of just being himself.
“As soon as I turn eighteen, I’m right out the door,” he says. “Jane went to the east coast when she could no longer stand it. You were here for what, a year, before you decided to go to Berlin for school.”
“Two years,” I tell him.
“Well as soon as I can, I’m gone. I might even drop out of school.”
“You are not dropping out of school,” I snap at him. “I don’t care how bad it gets, you are not doing that. That will fuck over your whole life. You keep going to school. If it gets bad, we’ll get you out of that house. I promise.”
He watches me for a moment, his green eyes narrowed into a squint, as if he’s trying to read the truth from my face. Then he sits back in his seat. “You better keep that promise.”
“I always do,” I tell him.
When we pull into the parking lot at the beach, Noah opens his backpack and takes out a mascara and a vial of lipstick, pulls down the visor’s mirror and starts running the lipstick’s wand over his lips, painting them a mauve shade.
“Where did you get those?” I ask.
“I didn’t steal them off your mother, if that’s what you’re wondering,” he says, eyes narrowed in concentration as he makes a precise line around his lips before smoothing it out. The kid is like a fucking pro.
“And where did you learn to do that?”
He gives me a close-lipped smirk. “It’s not hard to put on liquid lipstick, you know. Also, I follow a load of makeup artists on YouTube. I want to master contouring next but…we’ll see.”
I want to point out that with his angular face, he doesn’t need the contouring but I let it be. Clearly this makes him happy.
“And don’t worry,” he adds as he swipes on the mascara, “I’ll take all of this off before we go back home.”
I wish Noah lived in a house where he didn’t have to do that but at this point, it’s better to be safe than sorry.
“Ready to go?” I ask.
He nods, beaming at his appearance. It’s the first real smile I’ve seen on him all day. “Ready.”
We head out to the promenade and do the typical tourist thing that even locals will indulge in every now and then—people watching. Even though the weather in May can be volatile and it’s been fairly cold and gloomy as of late (which I love, reminds me of home), the beach is still packed.
There’s plenty to see. We pass people on rollerblades, break-dancers, people playing basketball, dogs pulling wagons filled with smaller dogs, fire-breathers, jugglers and several people on unicycles. I don’t see Scooby anywhere and I wonder if the unicyclists are stepping on his turf. They’d probably have a jousting match to settle it all. Now that would be entertaining.
Eventually we get ice cream like my mother had suggested and when that’s done, Noah goes over to talk to an artist who is painting sunsets on tiny canvases with pastels.
I finally text back Marina. I’m with Noah. He’s been having a hard time so I took him to Venice for ice cream. Want to come join?
She texts back right away. I would, even if I didn’t feel like driving allllll the way down there. But we’re not supposed to see each other outside of our dates, remember?
Oh right. So I guess that means you don’t want to come to our show tonight in Burbank.
Would if I could but I can’t. We’re still on for our date on Tuesday, right? The weather should hold up.
Why what are we doing?
The bees, remember?
Fuck.
Right. The bees.
You promised.
I did.
Three dots appear and then disappear and I feel my pulse quickening with it. Is she backing out? I mean, I’m not crazy about the idea of donning a bee suit and having them swarm around me, or god forbid, get trapped in my suit somehow, but I’ll do it for her.
She texts: We could do something else…
No, I want to do the bee thing. I imagine you like Candyman, in complete horrifying control of them.
I’ve never been compared to Candyman before. I like it.
“Your girlfriend again?” Noah says and I look up to see him nodding at my phone, watching me with a wary expression.
“I told you, I don’t have a bloody girlfriend.”
“Dude, you always have a girlfriend.”
“Not right now I don’t.”
“Then who do you keep texting and smiling like an idiot?”