Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 136559 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 683(@200wpm)___ 546(@250wpm)___ 455(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136559 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 683(@200wpm)___ 546(@250wpm)___ 455(@300wpm)
My eyes don’t even pop in surprise. This is super on brand for them.
“I feel you should know I didn’t want to tell you,” Ezra adds.
I should be annoyed by them. I have been in the past. But I’m not—I’m jealous for the first time. Because the thing is—they’re making it work better than I ever could. These two talk about everything. And what do I do? I keep secrets and push people away. Instead of being with the guy I fell for, I’m further apart from him than the miles between us.
I just shrug. I am a shell of whatever this morning. “It’s fine,” I say, not caring they’ve been getting it on in my room. I walk through the kitchen to the cramped bathroom, shutting the door with a loud rap.
I shower quickly, get dressed, and get out of there as fast as I can. I have my meeting with Melissa in a couple hours, but I’ll use this free time to walk, think, and strategize over how to fix all of the relationships I’ve wrecked. Starting with my father.
But how? I have no clue what to do next. His words won’t stop repeating in my mind—I am more hurt that you didn’t trust me enough to tell me you had fallen for someone.
They cut deeper each time I play them in my head. I need my friends. Need to discuss what to do next, to figure out how to fix this.
But just as I’m tapping out a mayday text to the crew, a new text from Riley lands on my screen.
Riley: School has a late start today. Guess who’s wandering around Japantown at nine in the morning with nothing to do? Come whisk me away for a boba.
My thumb hovers over the mayday text. I’ll want that later, but right now, sister time is exactly what I need.
After I order a green tea boba and a mango bubble tea for Riley, she tells me she’s all set for the SAT and refuses to study again for the next twenty-four hours. So once our drinks are ready, we grab them and wander around Japantown.
“Tell me something, anything not related to college or the SAT,” she says.
I scoff as we pass a cute little shop peddling all manner of Hello Kitty merch.
Perhaps intrigued by my scoff, she arches a brow. “What have you got?”
In the past, I might have held back. She’s sixteen, after all. But she’s the only other person in the world who knows exactly what makes our dad tick. Besides, I’ve never treated her with kid gloves, and I don’t want her to treat me that way either. I tell her everything because I don’t have a clue how to fix this mess but I know I need to start with my father.
Riley’s eyes widen until she stops mid-sip, dropping her metal straw in the cup. “Wow. You’re kind of the bad child now.”
“As if you were ever in consideration. You’ve always been good.”
She flicks her hair but then turns serious. “This is actually a big deal,” she says, heavily.
I sigh and take a sip. “Yeah, I know. What do I do, Riley?” I ask, hoping. Imploring.
She hums then stops outside a sticker store and says, “Look, I’m not always the good child. Dad and I have fought plenty. But when I’ve really screwed up, I always write him a letter. It’s just easier to say everything on paper—and he listens better that way too.”
Riley’s words sink in. I’ve let this guilt fester. I’ve fed it, watered it, grown it. It’s time to let it go.
With the truth.
I have a free hour before my meeting with Melissa, and I feel the pull of High Kick. It’s our place—Miles’s and mine. And right now, I don’t feel at home anywhere else. Not with Indigo and Ezra, and not at Miles’s place. Birdie’s café has always been where I figure myself out, and maybe it’s where I’ll start fixing things with Dad too.
While I’m there, I finish a photo collage on my iPad. There are pictures of all the things my father has taught me over the years.
How to ride a bike.
How to read.
How to cook.
How to balance a budget. How to save money. And how to apologize from the heart.
He took pictures of me doing all of those things over the years, and the story they tell—it’s the story of a girl who learned how to be a strong woman from her dad. He’s not the only one who keeps photos of special moments and memories. I guess that’s something else I learned from him.
In the middle of all those moments is a letter.
Dear Dad,
I can’t say I’m sorry enough. Truly, I can’t. I am very sorry that I hurt you. You taught me better. You’ve always listened to me.