Total pages in book: 164
Estimated words: 152853 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 764(@200wpm)___ 611(@250wpm)___ 510(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 152853 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 764(@200wpm)___ 611(@250wpm)___ 510(@300wpm)
Sheryl taps a finger to her chin. “You know, I’ve heard when a woman is pregnant with a baby boy, she needs more calories than if the baby was a girl. I don’t know if that’s true, though.”
“Oh, I can totally see that being true.” Bianca abandons her potato and reaches for a piece of cheese from the little platter Sheryl put together for us to snack on while we work. “I am hungry morning, noon, and night. I shudder to think how much weight I’m going to gain by the time this kid comes out.”
I’m only partly aware of their conversation. I’m too busy peeling and blocking out reality. Sheryl was shocked when I told her I wanted to help her with dinner today. Of course, she told me not to bother since she was thrilled I was home, so I didn’t need to do anything. I guess she figured I wasn’t kidding around – it didn’t take long for her to assign me a few different jobs. This is one of them. Once I’m finished, I’ll move on to chopping vegetables for the dressing and then prepping the sweet potato casserole. Out of everything she makes for Thanksgiving, that’s what I look forward to the most.
“Hello. Earth to Tatum.” Bianca is giggling when she nudges me. “You okay? You are, like, a hundred miles away.”
“Am I? I guess I’m too busy trying to work.” I stick my tongue out at her and she mimes me. And for one brief, necessary second, things feel normal again. Like nothing ever changed, like I never went away.
Whereas then my heart reminds me that I did, and that everything is different. It will never be the same.
“This year, we really have something to be thankful for.” Sheryl wedges herself between us, putting an arm around our shoulders. “First, Bianca came to stay, and now a baby is coming. And you, Tatum. The house was awfully empty without you.”
“That’s the truth.” Bianca lowers her peeler and sniffles. “These damn hormones!”
“Get it together, Preggo.” She bursts out laughing at my joke, but that doesn’t stop the tears from flowing.
“I can’t get a handle on myself,” she groans. “I swear, I burst out crying at the stupidest things now.”
“Don’t feel like you have to apologize.” Without thinking about it, I reach into the pocket of my hoodie and pull a tissue from the stash I’ve been carrying around. “Here you go.”
She gives me a funny look but doesn’t say anything beyond a muttered thank you. Dammit. That was pretty obvious, wasn’t it? Maybe she’ll let it go without bothering to ask why I’m making a point to carry tissues around with me now. I really don’t feel like getting into it.
She thinks she’s been crying? Hilarious. I’m surprised I was able to make myself stop long enough to come out to the kitchen and help with meal prep.
And I hate myself for it. Who was I ever kidding, thinking I was brave and strong? All it took was getting sent back home to shatter me all over again. When the potato I’m working on blurs, I blink fast to push the tears back. I will not do this here or now. I need to stay busy.
Once the pile is taken care of, I plop the last potato in the pot of water sitting on the counter. “Do you want me to cut them up?” I ask Sheryl, who just returned from the pantry carrying canned pumpkin purée. A pumpkin pie. I was thinking about making a pumpkin pie for our dinner, wasn’t I? How was that less than two weeks ago? I might as well have been a totally different person. I didn’t know I was as close to being happy in that stupid little house as I’d ever been. It didn’t matter that the situation was screwed from the beginning and I was there to protect myself.
“I can do them if you want to move on to the dressing,” Bianca offers, so I step aside and pull out a cutting board. Looking at all this food and knowing how much prep work still needs to be done, I feel bad for all the years I didn’t care about what went into the meal.
I mean, sure, on some level I knew it was hard work, but the number of people she feeds – everybody in the house, including the guards on duty — is enough to make my head spin. Ten pounds of potatoes for mashing, and now a whole package of celery and a small bag of onions need to be chopped for the dressing.
But it’s okay. It’s better than sitting in my room, drowning in tears.
If there’s one thing I wish could be different, it would be the way Bianca keeps trying to pull me into a conversation. I’m too distracted and heartbroken to pretend to be as happy as she is. I’m a shitty friend, in other words. Here she is, walking around all glowing, content, pregnant, and acting like it’s already Christmas, all because I came home. She is that happy to have me back.