Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 78340 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78340 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
After winding my way through my neighborhood while I warmed up, I’d pick a direction at random and start to run. I didn’t bother to time myself or measure distance. I just ran as long as I could before turning around and walking back.
Then, around seven-thirty or so, I’d arrive at a charming little bakery that was four blocks from home. It was owned by a Chinese-American man in his seventies named Mr. Chen, who was already treating me like a regular. As soon as he saw me, he’d start to prepare my small coffee and bag up my blueberry muffin, and when I reached the counter, he’d always say the same thing. “Hey there, Logan and Junior. How far did you two run today?”
He knew I didn’t keep track of distances, but he always pretended to know exactly what I meant when I said, “We turned around at that pink church with the apple tree out front,” or “This time, we made it to that bank that looks like a Greek temple.”
Then he’d nod knowingly and say, “That’s excellent. Keep it up.” There was something reassuring about this sameness, and I liked the fact that my world had expanded beyond the walls of the pink Victorian.
Actually, I liked everything about this part of my morning ritual, including the muffin and coffee, which were a bit of a splurge. I’d been broke all my life, so I was used to doing without. But I’d been able to get a partial refund on my college tuition after withdrawing just a week into spring quarter, so I had a little money in the bank for once. I knew I had to be really careful with it since I had no idea when or how I was going to find a job, but this small indulgence always cheered me up and made me feel less deprived.
After paying for our stuff, I wheeled Owen out to one of the tables in front of the bakery, which were always empty. Then I put a napkin on the narrow tray built into the stroller, and the baby watched me closely as I broke some of the muffin into small pieces and spread it out on the napkin for him. He loved the mushy, cooked blueberries, and he was also a big fan of feeding himself, so I’d resigned myself to the inevitable Smurf hands that accompanied our morning treat.
While Owen joyfully made a mess and ate a little of what I’d put in front of him, I sipped my coffee and placed a video call. Hal Nakamura had been my best friend for the past nine years, ever since we met on the first day of high school. He was just about all that remained of my pre-Owen life at this point, and he’d always meant the world to me.
This time of day usually found him in the middle of a long session on his stationary bike, so he appeared on my screen looking flushed and sweaty. He was half Colombian and half Japanese, and so cute that he’d actually been discovered by a talent scout in high school. Even though he’d gone on to a successful modeling career, he didn’t have a lot of confidence in his appearance, which I’d never understood. He’d never really loved being a model either, and now that he was studying fashion design, he seemed a lot happier.
Today, his long, dark bangs were clipped back with a barrette, and he was sporting a red, white, and blue stretchy sweatband and a matching striped tank top. I grinned and told him, “I like this retro seventies thing you’ve got going on. Do you have the wristbands to match?”
He held up his hands, and sure enough, he did. “Obviously! I feel like I need a mullet and a handlebar mustache to truly complete this look.”
“If only. You’d be my fashion hero if you did that.”
“It’s tempting. So, how are you and the offspring today?”
“Good. I’m pretty sure he’s going to take his first steps any day now.”
“Isn’t he kind of young for that?”
“Yeah, but it’s not unheard of for a ten-month-old to start walking,” I said. “I was reading up on it last night, after he fell asleep.”
“I know I’ve said this a thousand times over these past few weeks, but I still can’t believe you’re actually someone’s dad.”
“Tell me about it.”
As I popped a piece of muffin into my mouth, my friend tried to look annoyed. “This is my favorite part of our calls, watching you eat carbs while I pedal my ass off.”
I exaggerated my chewing. “Mmmm. Carby goodness.”
“You suck.”
“I know, but you could have a muffin if you wanted to, Mr. Fitness. You said you were retiring from modeling, which means you can eat anything you want.”
“Old habits die hard. Now pay attention! It’s almost time.”