Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 90951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90951 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
Beatrice makes a choking sound that she covers by wheezing, “Sorry. Acid reflux. The baby… She gives me acid reflux.”
Blue looks like he’s been hit by a case of reflux, too.
The man is as white as a sheet, his Zen master face a study in fretfulness.
He’s clearly starting to feel guilty about the secret he’s keeping, but Bean’s origin story is Beatrice’s to tell. And I’m pretty sure she’s not interested in sharing more about that at this juncture, a hunch she confirms by adding, “But yes, Blue is incredibly generous. He’s offered to come stay with us for a few weeks and help out until Clover’s more mobile again.”
“I’m going to need a lot of help.” I nod seriously, playing along.
At least, I think I’m playing along.
But once I have a chance to think about it, I blurt out, “Oh my God, I am going to need a lot of help,” interrupting Charlotte’s plan to be in charge of groceries and meal prep for the three of us.
Charlotte turns to me, blinking before observing in an amused tone, “Yes, you are, honey, but we don’t mind.”
“Well, thank you,” I say, still frowning. “But I mind. I don’t want to need help in and out of bed, or in and out of the shower, or the…” I trail off, the blood draining from my face as I leave the last part unspoken.
But, as usual, Beatrice knows exactly what I’m thinking.
She pats my hip through the hospital gown. “Don’t worry, babes, I’ll do that part. I can help you from the wheelchair to the toilet. We’ll let Blue handle the heavy lifting, but I can manage that, I promise.”
I groan. “Thank you, but I’m not sure that’s much better. I mean, yes, Blue’s a man, but not really. Not to me.” I glance his way. “No offense, Blue.”
“None taken,” he assures me.
“But at least I won’t be worried about hurting him while he’s putting me on the potty.” I moan again. “And what about number two? I mean, I’m sure I can wipe with one hand or whatever, but whoever comes in to help me pull up my pants will smell it, and they’ll know exactly who dealt it.”
“So what?” Beatrice flaps a hand. “We don’t care. What’s a little poo between friends?”
“It’s gross,” I insist, unable to pull myself out of the self-pity spiral. I’ve been fairly upbeat until now, but the bathroom shit has pushed me too far.
Literally…
I close my eyes, fighting tears. Blue, Charlotte, and Beatrice rush to assure me that everything is going to be fine, that there’s no need to feel embarrassed, that they’re all happy to help.
And I believe them, I do, but still…I’m grateful when Charlotte and Beatrice eventually step outside to talk to Nix, leaving me alone with Blue’s steady presence beside the bed.
“This will pass,” he murmurs in the silence after they’ve gone. “All things do. Good and bad.”
I open my eyes. “I know. I just wish the bad things didn’t pass so much more slowly.”
He sighs. “I hear you.”
“You still have a shot, Archer,” I whisper, grateful for the chance to shift the conversation to someone else’s problems. “She still cares. I know she does. It’s all over her face. Just don’t fuck it up this time.”
He nods, just once. “I won’t.”
“Why didn’t you text her, dude? What were you thinking?”
“I did text her. There was some kind of mess-up with the phones. Everything seems fine now, but she wasn’t getting any of the messages I sent while she was away.”
I blink. “What? For real? Does she know?”
He nods again.
“And?” I prompt after a moment. “What did she say? What did the texts say? Why do you guys still seem weird?”
“I forwarded them, but she hasn’t read them yet.”
I make a soft “oh” sound of understanding. “Well, that explains it. But that means things will be good again soon, right?”
Speaking of good…
I glance down at the IV button beside me. I think the nurse said I could push it if I needed more meds, but I can’t remember. I do, however, know that my head hurts, my leg and hip are starting to ache more insistently, and the water stain on the ceiling has grown suspiciously quiet.
“I don’t know,” Blue says, a hint of doom in his voice.
Turning back to him, I ask, “Why? Did you say something you shouldn’t have in the texts?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think so.” He glances down at the hands clasped in his lap. “I don’t know if I said the right thing, either. I’m not sure I know what the right thing is. I’m not good at this.”
“Romance?”
He glances over his shoulder toward the door.
“Don’t worry, we’re still alone,” I say. “And I don’t know about that. Beatrice seemed to think you were pretty good at romance after that night on your kitchen table.”