Total pages in book: 24
Estimated words: 22634 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 113(@200wpm)___ 91(@250wpm)___ 75(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 22634 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 113(@200wpm)___ 91(@250wpm)___ 75(@300wpm)
Preston emerges, drying his hands on a towel, and leans over to give Nonnie a hug. “I hope you’re hungry. I made enough food to feed a hungry football team.”
Nonnie looks a little confused. “It’s Tuesday. Aren’t we having sushi?”
There’s a beat where neither Preston nor I answers, and she picks up on it instantly. Her eyes sharpen. “What’s going on?”
Preston jumps in. “Tonight is a little different. I made baked salmon with lemon caper sauce, green beans, and that risotto you like. Thought we’d do something special.”
Nonnie turns to me, lips twitching at the corners. “No raw fish?”
I shake my head. “Not for the next seven months or so.”
Nonnie goes perfectly, utterly still.
Then, like the sun through the windows, her smile floods the room.
“Oh my God,” she says, hands flying to her heart. “Oh, Hazel!” She’s up off the sofa and grabbing me in a hug that feels like the best parts of every childhood memory. I squeeze her tight, and she’s already crying into my hair, whispering, “Oh, sweetheart, oh, I’m so happy for you, oh, oh,” and then she’s pulling Preston into the hug, all three of us tangled together, laughing and sniffling and holding on.
When Nonnie finally pulls back, her eyes are bright and damp. “A baby,” she breathes, then laughs. “Wait until I tell Mabel that I’m beating her in the first great-grandchild race. She’s going to be so jealous.”
“I’m glad we could help you beat Mabel Jenkins.” Preston laughs as we all walk over to the table.
He pulls my chair out for me, like he does at every single meal, and for some reason, that tiny detail almost makes me cry again. I blame the fetus. My hormones are straight-up unhinged these days.
Nonnie settles in across from us, still dabbing at her cheeks, beaming like she just scored the winning touchdown at the #1 Love Place Social Club Super Bowl.
Preston pours sparkling water into my glass and hands it to me, and for a second, I actually think I’m going to cry again. Damn these hormones.
Nonnie blots her eyes, then points at me with a dramatic flourish. “You realize what this means, don’t you?” Her voice is wobbly and triumphant, like she just won the lottery and wants to savor every syllable.
“Uh… that you’re going to start knitting baby booties and bragging about me at Social Club?” I try to laugh, but my voice cracks. Hormones. Again.
She shakes her head, eyes wide. “No, darling. It means we have to start decorating the baby’s room immediately. A proper nursery! None of this waiting until the last minute.”
I try to stifle a snort, but it comes out anyway. “Nonnie, you know we won’t even know if it’s a boy or girl for a couple of months, right? We’ll have to wait before going full Martha Stewart on the nursery.” I can see she’s about to argue, so I jump in fast. “But! We could start a Pinterest board to start gathering ideas.”
Nonnie’s whole face lights up. “That’s a great idea.” Then she pulls out her phone and starts flipping through screens.
Preston leans over and whispers in my ear, “Life just doesn’t get any better than this.”
It really doesn’t.