Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 106935 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 535(@200wpm)___ 428(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106935 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 535(@200wpm)___ 428(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
I don’t fight with low blows. And he’d better not either. With me or anyone.
He huffs out hard, like a bull.
I’m not done, though. I go full dad and say, “Do better.”
He swallows roughly, and there’s a flicker of embarrassment in his eyes. Maybe even shame. Then, he disappears into Cynthia’s room.
“Hey, babe,” I hear him say, and he’s clearly happy to see her.
“Hi,” she says brightly.
He’s happy now. That’s what matters. Not whether or not he’s happy with me.
That’s what I tell myself the whole way home.
41
A DIFFERENT NOTE
Nick
In the morning, I wake to soft blonde hair fanned out on my pillow and a warm woman curled up in my arms. Layla rustles the sheets against me. I kiss the back of her neck.
“More,” she whispers.
I push last night out of my mind. I can’t please everyone, but I can make one person very happy this morning.
So I do that.
Later, I head to the office and Layla goes to see Mia. I stop by the bodega again, pick up an egg sandwich, and leave it on David’s desk. This time, the note says:
Whenever you’re ready, I’d really like to talk to you. You know where to find me. Love, your dad
Then, I leave for a meeting across town. As I’m walking, my father texts unexpectedly, telling me he has a doctor’s appointment in the city, and he wants to know if I can grab a cup of coffee after.
If that isn’t foreboding, I don’t know what is. Immediately, I say yes, then hope he’s not about to deliver more bad news.
“Is this where you tell me you have five months to live?” I ask my dad as I grab a table at Big Cup an hour later, handing him a steaming cup of Joe then setting mine down.
He waves a dismissive hand and then raps his knuckles on his ticker. “You’re not getting rid of me. The doc says I’m in great health. It’s possible I’m kept alive by salt and vinegar,” he says.
Relieved, I lift my cup. “Sounds about right. And I’m glad all is well. I was bracing myself. Not gonna lie.”
“Don’t worry. I plan on haunting my sons for a long time,” he says, then studies my face. “But you don’t look like you’re just worried about me. What’s going on?”
Is he going to judge me for falling for a woman fifteen years younger? Falling for my son’s ex? Hiding it from him? No idea, but I’m going to tell him anyway. “So I met this woman…”
When I’m done with the story, he nods and mutters a “huh.”
Fuck. That’s bad. I cross my arms and wait for him to tell me I messed up big time with my kid.
He lifts his cup, takes a drink, then asks, “What’s she like?”
I laugh, incredulous. “You’re not going to tell me to, I don’t know, try harder with David?”
“Nah. You know what you did. And you’re doing what you need to do to make it right. So, keep doing it till my grandson gets his head out of his ass and talks to you.”
I break out in laughter, and it feels damn good. “Yeah, he was kind of being a little dick last night.”
Dad arches a brow. “Wonder where he got that from. You were kind of a little dick when you’d get mad at me.”
My eyes pop. “What? I was not. And you were mad at me, if I recall.”
He snorts, shaking his head. “I’m not talking about the big thing. I mean, all the other things. You liked to huff and puff if you were pissed at me for not letting you go out with friends. For telling you to do your homework. For making you do more chores.”
“Fine. I might remember that,” I admit, begrudgingly. “But it’s not the same.”
“No, but I’m like that. And you’re like that. And my grandson is like that,” he points out then lifts his cup, adding, “Like father, like son.”
I chew on that as I take a drink too. Maybe, if I keep doing things right, I can be having conversations like this with David down the road. Next week, next year, next decade.
“Now, tell me more about this love of your life,” Dad says.
I blink, startled by his comment. Did I say she was the love of my life?
That feels…big.
But maybe not wrong.
I tell him about Layla, adding, “And she takes people on their own terms. Know what I mean?”
“I sure do.”
“It’s nice,” I add, softly.
“It sure is,” he says. “She sounds good for you.”
“Yeah, she is. Really good for me,” I say.
“If she’s good for you, then you fight for that too. We fight for the good things in our lives.”
After we finish our drinks, then say goodbye, his words echo in my mind. Layla is worth fighting for. Sometimes that means showing someone you’re thinking of them.