Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 84676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 423(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 282(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 423(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 282(@300wpm)
I can’t help but think about my mom’s reaction when I tell her Dad has reappeared. I haven’t said anything about him turning up on the roof terrace. I know it would upset her, and if he’s just going to turn around and disappear again, there’s no point. I get the feeling I’ll have to have the conversation sometime soon. He texted this morning to confirm our meeting, and he seems determined to get a job here. I know I’ve told Leo I don’t want him to hire my dad—and I don’t—but I wonder if he knows someone outside of the Hart company who might have an opening. My dad’s obviously motivated about finding work.
I take a seat and check my watch. It’s two minutes past twelve. A shiver of anxiety passes down my spine and I try to shrug it off. I don’t need to worry. He’s going to show. If he wasn’t, why would he have texted this morning? He wouldn’t have bothered. I swallow and try not to look out the window. I used to spend hours sitting on my windowsill as a child, waiting for an unfamiliar car to pull up outside our house, hoping my father would open the driver’s door. Every now and then, that’s exactly what happened, and for a few days or weeks, or sometimes even a month or two, we would be a family.
Until he left.
I’d never know when he was going to go. He could be happy as a clam at dinner, and by morning, his car would have disappeared, the suitcase he came with vanished with him. He’d never leave a trace of himself behind. Except that last time, when he left his comics. When I was old enough to analyze these things, I often wondered whether his leaving them behind was a sign. Did he want to leave a piece of himself with me?
“Hey, Dollface!”
I snap my head up to find my father standing over me, arms outstretched. He’s fifteen minutes late, but who’s counting?
“Dad,” I say, jumping up from my seat. Without thinking, I accept his hug. He pulls me in close. It should feel familiar. A hug from my dad is something I should take for granted. But his arms feel alien, his frame doesn’t fit. It feels a little awkward, but at least I can’t smell whiskey. I hold on for as long as I can.
Eventually, he pulls back and holds me by the shoulders. “You look great, kid.”
I smile. “Thanks. Can I get you a coffee?”
He sits while I get him a double espresso. While I watch the barista make his drink, I wonder whether he always drinks espresso, or only when he might want to be done in a mouthful. He just has to take a gulp and it’s gone. Then he’s free to leave. Espresso is the coffee for people who don’t want to be in one place for very long. It’s coffee for my father.
I slide the cup onto the table.
“Thanks, doll,” he says.
“You’re welcome. You ready to meet Leo?” Between his lateness and the time it took to order his drink, we don’t have much time. Twenty minutes or so before we’ll have to leave.
“Sure thing,” he says in the same upbeat voice he uses when he says “Dollface.”
I know Leo’s not going to give him a job, but I still want my dad to make a good impression. “He’s my boss, Dad. So… you know. You gotta be on your best behavior.”
He laughs. “I’m always on my best behavior. Tell me about being manager of The Mayfair,” he says. “What’s it like being the boss of so many people?”
“It’s good,” I say. “It’s early days, but I’m enjoying getting things in shape. I think it’s got an exciting future.”
“Miss Boss Lady. Who would have thought it? You were such a funny kid. Always had your head in a book. Your room was always neat as a pin. And so independent.” He grins as he shakes his head.
My stomach starts to curdle. I don’t want to talk about my childhood. About how I was so independent because my mom was working two jobs to put a roof over our heads.
“So are you back in town to stay? Where have you been living?”
He leans back in his chair, stretching out his legs under the table. “Gotta love New York. Place is always changing and never changes at the same time.”
I smile at his description. He’s not wrong.
I wait for him to answer. How long is he back for? If he asked for a job at The Mayfair, he must be planning to stay for a reasonable amount of time.
“Do you live in Manhattan?” he asks.
“Jersey,” I say.
He nods. “Great place. I’d love to see your setup.”
My heart inches higher in my chest at the thought of showing my dad around my apartment. It’s not big, but Sophia and I have made it cozy. “I like to decorate for fall,” I say.