Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 93785 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 469(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93785 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 469(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
“She might not be mad about that.” I toss one of the million throw pillows out from under my ass. “She’s making me a sandwich. You know Mom. She has to feed me as soon as I walk in the door.”
“Yeah, you gotta let her do that. It makes her happy, and there’s nothin’ I like more in this world than to see your mother happy.” He takes his seat again, exhaling in a rush as his back rests against the chair. “How was the trip out here? You came in from Chicago—no, you’re in Nashville now. That’s right.”
“Yeah, I’m in Nashville. The drive up was easy this morning. No farm equipment hogging the roads. Great weather. Couldn’t have asked for a better trip, really.”
He nods. “I heard your sisters are coming today.”
“Why does everyone call them my sisters? They’re your daughters.”
He chuckles, his cheeks growing rosy.
“Yeah, Mom said they were coming this afternoon to hang out with you for a while.” I make a face that makes his chuckle turn into a full-bellied laugh. “Lucky you.”
“Your mother thinks I can’t be here alone.” The laughter subsides and a somberness sweeps across his features. “She hid my keys from me. Hell, she hired a neighbor boy who doesn’t know shit from Shinola to mow our lawn.” He throws up his hands in exasperation. “Can you believe that? The kid doesn’t even get the lines right, and he just about killed your mother’s rose bushes.” He huffs, clenching the armrests. “I don’t know what we pay him but it’s double too much.”
“I think she just wants you to enjoy your retirement, Pops.”
He scoffs again but lets it go. “How’s work going? You still with the podcast?”
My chest warms. These days are infinitely easier than the days he thinks I’m still in high school. Or the days he tries to ground me for what he construes as “talking back.”
“Yeah. Still with the podcast. It’s going really well, actually. I might get a new spot in the lineup, so that’s exciting.”
“What about a woman? Have you got a girlfriend yet? It’s up to you to carry on the Bennett name, you know.” His brows tug together. “I don’t know how old you are these days, but you sure as hell aren’t getting any younger.”
I exchange a smile with Mom as she enters the room. “I think I have a few good years ahead of me yet, Dad. I wouldn’t worry about it too much.” Mom hands me my sandwich. “Thank you.”
“What are we gonna do with this boy, Barb?” Dad asks, grabbing for Mom’s hand.
She goes to his side and laces their fingers together. “I think he’s doing just fine. Although, I wouldn’t mind having some grandkids.”
“I hope you are having this same discussion with your daughters. Otherwise, this is quite sexist and I’m offended.”
“Oh, hell no,” Dad says with more emotion than I’ve seen him have in a while. “My little girls aren’t having kids for twenty more years. You watch your mouth.”
I take a bite of my sandwich, the bacon perfectly crisp yet buttery, and try not to laugh. I’m not sure if this is one of those confused moments where he thinks his girls are teenagers, or if he’s going into protective dad mode. It’s hard to tell.
“Have you met any nice ladies lately?” Mom asks, batting her lashes. “Since Dad brought it up.”
“Do you mean have I met anyone in the grocery store or biblically?” I ask, smirking at her.
Mom gives me a look that elicits a chuckle—and that just makes her stern side-eye sharper. And funnier.
“You’re a Bennett,” Dad says, puffing up his chest. “I know you’re getting nookie somewhere.”
Mom smacks him in the chest.
“Happy to talk this out with you, Pops, but not sure Mom needs to hear those details.”
He pokes Mom in the side. “Your mom’s still pretty frisky.”
My teeth sink into my sandwich, but Dad’s words hit just as I start to swallow. The combination isn’t great. I begin to choke as Mom chastises Dad and I try not to die while erasing that sentence from my brain.
“Well, you are,” Dad says, staring up at her like she’s a pin-up model.
“Edward.” Mom’s cheeks flash bright pink. “Enough.”
“You wanna continue this conversation, Mom?” I ask, clearing my throat. “Or do you want to use this opportunity to segue to something else?”
“I just want grandkids,” she says. “I don’t care about your … exploits.”
“Well, when I meet a candidate to have my children, you’ll be the first to know.”
Mom pats Dad’s chest. “Make it sooner rather than later.” She winks before heading upstairs, telling Dad she’s going to change their bedsheets.
I take another bite of my sandwich as Dad settles back in his seat again.
The house settles and grows quiet. Occasionally, Mom’s singing flows down the stairs and I’m reminded of her cranking up the music on Saturday mornings when I was a kid, giving no fucks that I was trying to sleep. It was infuriating then. Now? I don’t hate the memory.