Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 72765 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 364(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72765 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 364(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
It’s the Elmhurst’s grand re-opening, three years in the making.
While we hoped to have the place up and running much sooner, we also wanted to give it a full restoration, which entailed permits, roadblocks, hundreds of phone calls to experts, endless man hours sourcing miscellaneous theatre-related antiques from all over the world—amongst many other things.
There was also the design and remodel of the storage space into the home of our dreams …
The sale of my corporation.
The year we spent ricocheting around the globe, anywhere the wind blew us …
The wedding in Switzerland with Ophelia officiating …
The birth of our son late last year …
Now that we’re back home and settled, we’ve recently begun the home study process, hoping to foster a child or two in the near future with the intention of adopting at some point.
“I’m so nervous.” She grins at our son, tickles the underside of his chin, and leans in for a kiss, leaving a mouth-shaped stain on his chubby cheek. “I hope everyone likes what we did.”
“How could they not? It’s going to be like walking straight into 1921. You’ve taken a rundown theatre and turned it into a neighborhood jewel. People are going to come from all over to see this place. Now let’s go. I don’t know if you’ve looked outside lately, but the line’s already down the block …”
Astaire runs to the window, peering down below. “Oh my God. It is.”
We drop Charlie off with our indispensable Eulalia in the kids’ playroom and head downstairs, entering through the private entrance we had installed during the reno.
“You ready?” I take her hand. She nods.
The instant we get around the corner, we’re greeted with a raucous, “SURPRISE!”
I had the manager gather the original volunteers, the ones Astaire worked with years ago, to let them in early for a private moment together.
Astaire gasps, hands to her mouth, and then runs toward them, doling out hugs like candy at a parade.
Over the years, we’ve learned that it doesn’t matter how small or disconnected your family of origin is because friends can be family too. Ophelia and Astaire are like sisters these days. And she’s made endless new connections all over the world, as well as a handful of mom friends from various playgroups around the city.
I’ve been putting myself out there more as well …
“Expanding your friendship horizons beyond Jax and your other ‘sometimes’ friends,” as she so delicately put it one evening.
My next appointment with Dr. Rathburn is a month from today. Fortunately, I’ve had no flare-ups or signs of rejection since my last episode three years ago.
Astaire says it’s because I’ve finally accepted love into my heart and that love heals everything.
Regardless, life is good.
Unfortunately, I can’t say the same for my brother. I heard through the grapevine that their adoption fell through, and I also heard Beth met someone new—some great-great-great Rothschild she met at a fundraiser they attended together. Beth may have feigned ignorance the majority of the time when it came to my brother, but she was never dense. She had to have seen the boat was sinking and she jumped ship the first chance she got.
My mother about had a coronary when she found out I’d sold the corporation—or at least that’s what I heard from my secretary at the time. I deactivated her building access card and my staff were under strict orders to direct my mother to a dummy voicemail account I’d had the IT department set up to specifically filter her incessant messages.
But the calls stopped eventually, and she never attempted to come by for one of her infamous impromptu face-to-face meetings.
Rumor has it she checked herself into a “wellness sanctuary” for some rest and relaxation shortly after the sale was finalized, but those in the know claim she had a bit of a breakdown and has been living as a reclusive shut-in at our family’s estate.
Can’t say that I feel bad for her. Can’t say that I’ve been bothered to care about what she’s up to these days. I’m far too busy to concern myself with insignificant matters or wretched, self-serving people.
The only things that deserve an ounce of my time … are in this building.
Everything else is noise.
“It’s starting to rain,” Astaire tugs at my sleeve. “We should let them in early.”
“Martin, unlock the doors, please,” I tell the manager.
It was raining the day I met the kind stranger who forever changed the trajectory of my life for the better—and ever since then, I’ve always seen rain as a sign of good luck.