Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 98612 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 493(@200wpm)___ 394(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98612 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 493(@200wpm)___ 394(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
“Mommy! Look! That’s like Daddy’s peepee!” the dark-haired boy yells.
A petite woman with long auburn hair and huge boobs, who also appears to be significantly pregnant, drags her attention away from the giant of a man whose arm is draped protectively over her shoulder to address her son. “Honey, we don’t broadcast that.”
“But it’s true!” he protests, little arms flailing.
“I know, sweetie, but we don’t want to make the other mommies jealous.”
I can’t believe this is an actual conversation, happening right now, in public. I’d like to believe this mother is joking, but considering the statements are coming from a child and they’re generally not adept at lying, I have to believe that what he’s saying is true. I inappropriately wonder how that even works with a woman her size. And then, of course, because my brain is a messy place these days, I think about RJ and how . . . ample he was and how I’m close to the same size as that woman. I cut off that line of thinking right away, because it’s unhelpful and embarrassing.
Heedless of his mother’s warning, the little boy plasters himself against the glass, fascinated by what he’s seeing, and yells, “Daddy! The dolphin has a big peepee just like you! Mine is gonna be just like that!”
“Robbie, buddy, we don’t talk about that in public,” the handsome man says, his eyes glued to his wife, or, more specifically, her cleavage.
Robbie’s mother finally registers what’s happening in the dolphin tank, and her eyes go wide. “Holy hell, that thing is freaking huge.” She elbows her husband in the side. “Maybe you’re part dolphin.”
Her husband drags his attention away from her chest and follows her gaze to the spectacle behind me, eyes popping. “Wow. No wonder his girlfriend is trying to get away.”
All hell breaks loose as a little blond boy starts crying. “Mommy! The boy dolphin is trying to stab that girl dolphin!”
His equally blonde mother tucks him into her side and pats his head reassuringly. “He’s not trying to stab her, honey, he’s trying to love her.”
I really hope no one asks me to explain dolphin mating rituals, because I think I will likely burst into flames. “Okay, everyone! Let’s give the dolphins some privacy and move on to the next exhibit! Who wants to see the sharks? Raise your hands!” I shout into my headset, causing feedback to echo through the cavernous room.
Thankfully it distracts everyone from the fornicating dolphins. As I usher a few of the most distraught kids and their parents on to the next exhibit, apologizing profusely for something beyond my control but still insanely embarrassing, a man at the back of the group catches my attention.
My heart stutters as I take in what I swear is the familiar set of RJ’s shoulders and the distinct shape of his cut jaw. I took up sketching again just so I could try to capture the memory on paper. Yes, I’m that pathetic. No, I haven’t gotten over him.
“Excuse me, can you tell me where the bathroom is?” The woman’s shoulder is covered in spit-up, and the infant in her arms looks like he’s about to cry.
I drag my eyes away from what very well may be a complete hallucination based on the lack of sleep I’ve had over the past several months and point the poor mother in the direction of the women’s bathroom. When I look back to where my hallucination/fantasy was standing, all I see is a bunch of balloons.
I’m losing it today.
I rush to the front of the group and continue with the tour. Thankfully, the sharks are behaving themselves, and it’s feeding time, which usually goes over well with the kids. But not this time: one little boy starts crying again when he realizes that they’re feeding the sharks fish and calls them cannibals. Another boy asks if we’ll get to see the shark’s peepee too. His mother pulls him aside and gives him a stern talking-to.
I keep glancing at the back of the group, trying to figure out if I’m truly hallucinating. But then I get another glimpse of the man who came into my life over a year ago, turned it upside down, and kept it that way.
It’s definitely RJ. I wonder if he’s related to one of these hockey players. Maybe his brother relocated from LA or he has a cousin here. But as I take in the other men at this birthday party, I realize they’re all wearing the same baseball caps and T-shirts with the same logo, like it’s a uniform. And RJ is no different, his huge, bulky frame filling out the T-shirt that matches the rest of the men’s, all rivaling each other in size.
Shaken and very much confused, I lead the party through the tour, stumbling over my words more than once. Of course the dolphins can’t be the only ones acting up today. When we get to the sea otters, one of the males presses himself against the glass and rubs himself on it, licking the window. The kids think it’s hilarious, and the parents all pull out their phones and take videos. At least the otters aren’t trying to mate.