Total pages in book: 144
Estimated words: 134830 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 674(@200wpm)___ 539(@250wpm)___ 449(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 134830 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 674(@200wpm)___ 539(@250wpm)___ 449(@300wpm)
“Okay, but didn’t you? I’m sorry for jumping to some awful conclusions, but can you blame me? You have treated me differently my whole life. I’m not smart like Cameron, or competitive like Carter, or ballsy like Chance, or stoic like Cole, or a beast like Kayla.” I throw my hands out like punches, one after the other as I mention my siblings, and then slam my palm to my chest as I add bitterly, “I’m just the disappointing fuck-up who never did anything right, which you took every opportunity to remind me of.”
“You’re not a fuck-up, noun. You choose to fuck up, verb,” Dad says snidely. “Two very different things.”
I huff out a humorless laugh, surprised at the way he can still cut me so easily. “Gee, thanks. Guess it’s all clear now, huh?” I glare at him as I flop back in the chair, throwing my arms up in surrender before letting them fall to the armrests.
“Why do you have to make everything so difficult?” Dad demands.
Mom moves her legs as Dad abruptly stands and paces toward the cold fireplace. He places his hands on the mantel, staring at the family picture above. I don’t remember taking the picture, but we’re all gathered together, standing in front of Mom and Dad with arms wrapped around one another and big smiles on our faces. I can’t be more than three or four in the picture. We look happy. Maybe then, we were. Maybe then, I was.
“I did my best,” he spits out. “And if it wasn’t good enough, then I apologize. But I had the weight of the whole company, this entire family, and thousands of other ones on my shoulders and was doing my best to keep it all on-track.” He doesn’t sound sorry. He makes it sound like my feelings were minor and inconsequential compared to the super-duper, fucking important things he was oh-so-busy doing.
“But you left me behind to do it!” I shout, standing up too. “I didn’t care about the fucking company! I didn’t want the money! I wanted a father!”
I’m glad there’s a table between us because we are rock against rock, one immovable force against another, ready to smash each other in our desperate bid to make ourselves heard. My chest is rising and falling too fast, my breathing jagged as the pain I’ve shoved down, ignoring it for my whole life, rushes up to be set free.
Dad looks to Mom for help, scoffing at my outburst, and she holds her hands out, one toward each of us. “Enough. Sit down. Both of you.” Mom’s using her no-nonsense tone, and we both know what that means—she’s at her limit and we’d best watch it.
Slowly, we sit, Dad and me eyeing each other like this might be a trick one of us is playing on the other. But Mom soothes both of us in the way only she can, like the calm in the eye of the storm of me and Dad.
“Let’s go back to the beginning. Each of you jump in when you have something to say. Politely,” she warns, giving both of us a solid Mom glare of don’t try me today.
I slowly nod, resuming my posture with my hands between my spread knees. Dad reclines back on the couch, letting Mom lead. He probably assumes that if he or I do it, we’ll end up yelling again. He’s right about that.
“After the twins, I wasn’t doing well. My body was a wreck, my hormones were all over the place, I was exhausted, the boys were busy, and Charles was running a multi-billion-dollar company that required his full attention. I didn’t mind, because honestly, I didn’t want him to see me the way I was.” She looks to Dad, whose eyes soften instantly when he sees the pain that going back to that time causes her.
I hate that she’s doing it for me, but I need to know. I need to understand why things are different between me and Dad, and I think this is the only way to do it, so I stay quiet, letting her fall into the memories.
“So we hired Anders, and he truly saved me. But I most definitely did not have an affair with him,” she says, giving me a pointed look, and I shrink, guilt-ridden for even suggesting such a thing. Mom would never do that. It’s not who she is, and if I’d thought about her for a single second, I would’ve known that. “He played ball with the boys, helped with the babies, and let me heal, which I did. It didn’t take long until I was happy again and could re-engage in all the things I loved about the family and life we’d created.” She takes Dad’s hand, squeezing it. “We were done having kids. We didn’t make a formal declaration, but we knew. Until a few weeks after our anniversary.”