Total pages in book: 99
Estimated words: 94883 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 474(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94883 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 474(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
“I’m a lucky woman,” I say, meaning it.
“What time do we need to be ready to help you set up?” Parker asks through a mouthful of French toast. “Because I wasn’t kidding. Somehow, I’ve already dirtied everything I packed.”
Nana glances at the clock on the wall. “Two hours and change, so you’d better go throw a load in. We can’t parade you around downtown like that. Poor Makena will have to beat the other women off with a stick.”
“Which, I would,” I assure Parker as he pushes his chair back. “But I am a little tired from all the excitement yesterday, so…”
He grins on his way back to our room, calling over his shoulder, “You want me to throw some of your stuff in, too? Bras and panties and those shorts I like that almost show your ass?”
“Yes, please,” I say with a huff of laughter. “And a t-shirt, in case I feel like wearing a shirt tomorrow, too? With the shorts?”
“I guess,” he mutters.
When I turn back to dig into my toast again, Nana is smiling. “You two are precious,” she murmurs. “I’m so happy you came to see me.”
“Me, too. Really,” I say, wanting her to know how grateful I am. “It’s been the best visit. Parker and I were already talking about coming back in August sometime if that’s all right.”
Her smile widens. “Absolutely! Any time. And maybe I can get y’all to help me with a few things around the house next time. Just a few repairs I haven’t had the energy to get around to.”
“Of course,” I assure her. “Anything you need.”
“It’s really not much. I just haven’t had as much energy lately.” She winks. “It would probably help if I stopped staying out until all hours of the night chatting with friends, but between the six of us, we have a lot of grandbabies. And a lot of gossip. And we’ve been meeting up to watch all the Voodoo games, of course. They’re all so proud. It’s like Leo belongs to all of us.”
“He really is incredible on the ice,” I say. “Even when I was trying not to think about him, I couldn’t stop watching the games.”
“Aw, you had a crush on me, too.” Parker swings back into the kitchen, pinching my hip as he sits down. “If I’d known you were watching, I would have written ‘Date me, Makena’ on my cheek, and you would have come to your senses a lot sooner.”
“Oh, hush,” I mutter, though I suspect he’s probably right.
We finish our French toast and laundry, and three cups of coffee later, have Nana’s ancient station wagon stuffed with boxes of crocheted dick socks and chubby stubby tea cozies in every color of the rainbow. Along with a cash box older than I am, and signs that say things like “Put a Sweater on Your Peeter” and “Keep it Cozy with a C*ck Warmer.”
At the fair, Parker backs the wagon up to her tent, where we help unload and arrange the merchandise.
“I can’t believe this is my life,” I say with a happy sigh, positioning a particularly vibrant purple penis cozy on the display rack.
Parker tosses a rainbow-striped number my way. “This one’s my favorite. Put it up front, too.”
The craft fair is exactly what you’d expect from a town that celebrates sausages. Booths selling everything from handmade soap to oil paintings of dogs in top hats to yoga posing garden gnomes fill the square. The penis cozy booth fits right in, tucked away in the “adult corner” with the obscene cross-stitch and nearly naked firefighter calendars, drawing scandalized giggles and curious browsers in equal measure.
“Now remember,” Nana instructs from her lawn chair once we have everything settled, “the key to sales is education. These aren’t just novelties, they’re functional art. Keeps the jewels warm in winter, provides cushioning for athletic activities—”
“Please stop,” Parker begs.
“Never.” She turns to a passing couple. “Y’all need a dick sweater? Twenty percent off if you buy three!”
I watch them work, Nana charming customers with her complete lack of shame, while Parker plays the embarrassed but dutiful grandson. But he clearly feels proud to be a part of her weird and wonderful world.
“I’m going to grab a lemonade,” I announce after an hour of steady customer activity. “Y’all want one?”
“Yes, please,” Nana says. “Strawberry lemonade for me.”
“Extra ice for me,” Parker adds, catching my hand as I pass by, just to squeeze it with a smile.
Just because he likes to touch me.
Likes to like me.
I float to the lemonade stand on happy vibes and float back with three sweating cups.
We people-watch and penis-warmer-and-cozy-sell until lunch, when Parker and I leave Nana with Eugenia, who’s stopped by for a visit, and slip away to explore a little. Parker shows me the parts of the square we missed in all the chaos yesterday—the pottery store, the children’s bookstore where he devoured The Hunger Games series, and the ice cream shop that still makes the same flavors they did when they opened in 1968.