Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 90736 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90736 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
My brother and I are his entire world.
Well, Kevin too.
Since Mom died, Dad really hasn’t dated, and I want that for him more than I want it for myself.
The reality is, Dad could be what’s holding me back from seriously putting myself out there. God, I hate even saying that—it makes me feel like a shitty person and a terrible daughter—but it’s true.
As much as it pains me to say it, it’s true.
Try bringing men around when Dad has this little habit of getting attached to guys who may not be long-haulers. He wants me to date anyone with a pulse and has tried setting me up on so many dates I have lost count—including a few occasions when we’ve gone shopping together.
No one wants to be ambushed at the self-checkout register by Big Steve as he tries to pawn off his daughter because he wants grandbabies.
Deep down in my heart I worry that my dad is going to get attached to whoever walks through my door; dating me will be like dating my father. Uh. Wait—that’s not how I meant it. What I meant was, dating me would be dating us both.
And I can’t have Dad getting hurt by my dumb decisions.
“Is your mom around, or are they divorced?”
I shake my head. “No, my mom died ten years ago, and since then . . . you know, he really . . . he’s up my ass.” I laugh. “And my brother lives halfway around the world, so I’m the lucky one who gets his undivided attention and help I don’t need.” I take a deep breath. “Did you know I have a leaky faucet? ’Cause I didn’t.”
Andy’s smile is sweet. “My parents are both alive and still married, but with all the travel I do, I don’t get to see them as often as I should. Sometimes they fly to see me where I’m at.”
“Fly to see you where you’re at? What does that mean?”
“It just means that since I moved from Ohio to Washington, they can’t just drive over.”
Ah. Makes sense.
“Do they pry in your business?”
He nods. “Yes and no.”
I have no idea what that’s supposed to mean. It sounds sort of cryptic, although I’m sure he’s not trying to be.
“My dad does, and it’s worse since his accident. About six months ago, meddling in my business became his side hustle. He has nothing to do but overthink everything.” I sigh, though he probably can’t hear it over the noise. “And the fact I work from home isn’t helping. He thinks that he can pop in and out all day, every day, whenever he wants.”
“What kind of accident?”
“Well.” I shake my head slowly. “He drives a moped around town, and six months ago, he crashed into the open door of a car that was parked on the side of the road.”
It was horrible.
He got a concussion and injured his spine, spending several nights in the hospital before being released into my care.
He’s back at his house now, but that doesn’t mean I don’t constantly fret over him. The fact that he got a head injury at his age gave me many sleepless nights.
“A head injury?” Andy groans. “Those are no good.”
“That’s an understatement. Scared the shit out of me. Broken bones I can handle, but a head injury? No thank you. Hard pass.”
He’s quiet for a few seconds, and I change the subject and ask one of the most-popular dating-app questions:
“So, Andy. What is it that you do?”
Translation: Are you actually employed?
“I’m in . . .” He pauses. Long. It’s a long, long pause, as if he isn’t sure what to say or how to answer. Gives me side-eye, studying my face as if looking for some sort of answer.
I don’t know what he thinks he’s going to see in my eyes, but it’s uncomfortable enough for me to say, “Never mind. It’s not important.”
It’s not like I’m going to see him again after this weekend.
“No, it’s cool,” he says. “It is important. I’m in between gigs right now.” He shrugs. “It’s complicated.”
Oh. Complicated.
As in, unemployed?
How is he traveling and bopping around the city and staying at a fancy hotel while he’s in between gigs? I know how I’m staying there—hotel points—so maybe that’s how he’s doing it too. But that doesn’t explain how he was able to order a bag of breakfast with the snap of his fingers. It makes no sense, but this is New York City, and like they say, anything is possible.
“Ah, I see.” No judging. “What were you doing before you got laid off?”
Why am I making assumptions? Maybe he didn’t get laid off; maybe he quit. Maybe he got fired. Maybe he’s the worst, laziest employee.
I side-eye him back.
He doesn’t look like a slouch, but maybe he spends way too much time in the gym and not enough time grinding and hustling to pay the bills, eh?