Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 71698 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 358(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71698 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 358(@200wpm)___ 287(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
“I can tell you that no matter what happens, I’ll be here to listen to everything you have to say, or if you don’t want to say anything at all. I’ll be here as your mom and as your friend. I do believe that hard work pays off. You’re the hardest worker I know. You’re open-minded, and you’re a great person. Do you know how proud I am that you’re my daughter, and how honored I feel to know you?”
“Stop!” I shove Mom’s shoulder playfully as my eyes start to burn. “I’d like to get out of the house without bawling. I have to execute a crazy maneuver and basically swipe Wilder right off the street so we can make our getaway. That takes a lot of mental toughness. I can’t get soft now.”
“You’ve never been afraid to feel. You know what you want. You want Wilder. The rest can work itself out if you plug away at it together. Create a safe space to be open with each other. Talk often. Fall for each other over and over again. Be open to change. You know these are the things I believe in, and you know they’re far easier said than done. When you’re at the worst of your doubts, hopefully that helps.”
“It does.” I hug her hard and release her, ready to shoulder my bag and get out of here before I’m late.
I can’t be late. I’m basically panicking as it is about pulling this off without a hitch, and it’s not like it’s the plan of the century. I could always circle the block several times without anyone catching on. Wilder will be in a disguise. We decided on a location, and it’s all going to be fine. The drive to the private studio in Reno will be fine.
Woof Woof Dog gives me a sad doggy look, complete with lolling tongue and forlorn eyes.
“It’s okay, sweetheart. I’ll be home in a week. Not months this time. I promise.”
Pumpkin flips right side up and saunters into the kitchen, shaking his tail at me like a rattlesnake, chastising me as well.
“I’m so sorry if he poops outside the litterbox because of this.”
Mom only smiles indulgently. We all know about Pumpkin’s moods. And how the poor other cats find his spite offerings in funky places and try to cover them up with anything available. Most of the time, it’s air. And most of the time, the spite poop is therefore located by their scratching the floor or the wall to try and cover it. Sometimes, it’s the smell that announces it first.
“Don’t worry about anything here. Go nab your prince charming straight off the street. And this time, I hope that if he’s wearing leather pants, he has underwear on underneath. That kind of sweat can lead to some real crotch rot. Just a word to the wise.”
“Mom!” And here I was, just about over the shame of her finding out about me and Wilder by walking in on us in a tangled shower heap. It’s one thing for me to be grossed out about my mom getting it on with some guy. There’s a ninety-eight point nine nine two percent chance that walking in on her would kill me. Even if I’m a nurse, there are things I just don’t want to see.
But it’s probably just as haunting for her the other way around.
“I’m worried I won’t come close to being the kind of woman that Wilder would sing about if he ever did sing about women. I don’t know if I want to be his muse, but I don’t know if I want to be his un-muse either. Oh my god, I haven’t even left to start Operation Kidnap A Man I Can’t Stick A Definition On Past Echo Of My Soul, and I’m already freaking out. This is bad.” I inhale dramatically. I need to stop freaking out. I was almost past the door this time. “Can you smell that? My failure fumes are already wafting strongly.”
Mom turns her face away, slamming her hands over her eyes. “They’re burning me. Help!” She fans herself and shoots me a grin that makes me feel a hundred percent better. Sometimes I don’t need words of encouragement, a pep talk, or solid advice. Sometimes, I just need this.
I fist bump her playfully on the shoulder.
“You’re going to do great. I know it. Trust that. Trust yourself. It goes a long way in combating failure fumes,” Mom tells me.
I shoulder my bag. “Will do. Or at least, will try.”
I have to leave this time. I have approximately zero minutes to spare.
I manage to get out the door and make it all the way to the unobtrusive white rental. My own car hardly ever gets driven, but it’s a sixties classic and not exactly the kind of thing that won’t turn heads. I opted for the rental so I could blend in.