Total pages in book: 216
Estimated words: 206530 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1033(@200wpm)___ 826(@250wpm)___ 688(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 206530 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1033(@200wpm)___ 826(@250wpm)___ 688(@300wpm)
“What do you mean?” I ask, spearing some spinach from my salad and then mixing it with a little bit of alfredo. The meal has been so relaxing, I’m almost finished with my plate. When I’m nervous or uptight, I can barely eat a thing. But Dad’s so charismatic, I have the feeling he could make the Pope feel at ease in a stripclub.
He smiles as he dishes out a second serving of pasta for himself. “There’s a Father-Daughter Dance and Fundraiser this weekend for donors. Of course the hospital higher-ups such as yours truly are expected to attend.” He puts down his fork, his green eyes earnest. “It’d be an honor if you’d go with me.”
For a second, there’s a lump in my throat. It’s so stupid, I know it is.
But there are just certain things you miss out on when you don’t have a dad around growing up. All things dad-related—it’s just impossible not to feel cut out from a lot when you’re a kid. Take Your Daughter to Work Day. Innocuous teacher questions like, what do your parents do? The country club Father-Daughter Dance all my friends went to when I was thirteen—yes, when you run in the circles my family does, you’re supposed to attend pretentious things like that. All of it just put a spotlight on the glaring hole in my life.
And when I asked Mom where my real dad was and why he left?
I only got cursing, inevitably followed by days of binge drinking even worse than normal. I asked Grandpa once and was told my father was a lowlife scum who would never get a cent of the family fortune. So that was that.
But here’s this man now eager to step into the role. Gorgeous and vibrant. He wants me. In every sense of the word.
Dad.
I beam at him even as my stomach twists with the knowledge that this is screwed up. And I’m screwed up for wanting it. Really screwed up for wanting it as much as I do.
“I can’t wait.” The words are off my lips before I can even think them through.
Dad reaches over and squeezes my hand. His grin stretches across his face. I’ve made him so happy.
How can that be wrong?
We sit there, eyes and hands locked for a moment, then Dad lets go and we return to eating. He asks me about classes and dinner continues as normal.
After dinner, I do the dishes and Dad dries. Dad finally puts the last dish away. Then he gives my shoulder a squeeze and kisses the back of my head. “Sleep tight, sweet girl.”
I turn and watch his back as he disappears out the kitchen door.
Then I shake my head and brace my hands against the kitchen counter.
Six months ago I would have been eating ramen while buried in blankets on my bed, watching endless reality TV and wishing my life was even half so interesting as it is now. Often crying myself to sleep from loneliness and hoping for something—anything—to change.
And now I have the attention and affection of not one but two men.
Maybe I should stop worrying and complaining and just…you know, try to enjoy it.
Whoa, what a shocking thought.
Me, actually enjoying my life and not just doing what I’m supposed to do like a good little autobot? Perish the thought!
God, I’ve lived so long in fear of repeating Mom’s mistakes that I’ve barely allowed myself to even live. Never color outside the lines, Sarah. Do the dishes and clean up after your slob of a mother, Sarah. Never let anyone see what a screwed up homelife you have, Sarah.
Look perfect.
Be perfect.
But… what if I just gave it all up?
All the self-judgement.
All the guilt at stepping a toe outside the line.
What if I let go of shame?
Let go of everything and learn who Sarah really is apart from my mother’s daughter? Completely unshackled?
Just the idea releases the heaviness that’s been weighing me down ever since last weekend. Then I immediately feel exactly how exhausted I am.
I’ve barely been sleeping. Every night waiting for something, I don’t even know what—one or both of them to show up at my door. I shake my head and laugh at myself.
Whatever this is, I’m sure we can sit down like mature adults and discuss it and what we want it to be. I don’t know why I’ve been so wimpy about it. I’ve let fear rule me for too long. I should have spoken up and asked more questions on Saturday. Clarified exactly what was going on, what I was confused about, and what I wanted.
Communication. You know, that little thing everyone talks about as the most important element in any relationship? How are the guys supposed to know what I want unless I speak up? I want to smack my forehead at how obvious the solution to all my anxiety is.