Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 88064 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88064 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Does that make it harder for Dad to be around me? I’ve never asked him. I’ve never really asked him anything about his feelings since she passed. I slow my pace, letting my men walk ahead and allowing the gap between us to lengthen. On this warm night, with more peace between Dad and I than we’ve had in years, I feel like I should change that.
"I miss Mom," I say softly, waiting for his response. Dad says nothing, just lifts his free hand and rests it over my arm as I continue. "I miss her every day. I miss her when I’m eating pancakes, or when I hear a song she used to listen to, or when I smell another woman wearing her perfume. I miss her when I hear something funny that I know she’d laugh at, or when I try a new cake that she’d have wanted to learn the recipe for. And it doesn’t get any easier."
"I know," he says softly. "It doesn’t matter how many years pass, there is always a hole in my life, the shape and size of your mom, which will never be filled. She was unique and brilliant and special, and as hard as it is, I’m happy she was so exceptional that I still miss her after all this time. She was a gift."
"She was." I smile, remembering the way Mom used to chew the end of every pen or pencil she used, and how her ears would always end up peeking through her hair.
"You’re a gift too," Dad says. "You’re so much like her."
"I am?" I turn to gaze at his side profile, noticing the additional creases around his eyes and the deeper set of his mouth.
He smiles and turns. "You are."
"Do you think Mom would have liked them?"
Dad slows, and then stops, turning to face me. When he places his hands on my upper arms, my heart does a little jump, anticipating he’s going to say something negative. Maybe all his smiles and easy chatter were just a polite cover and now he’s going to tell me how he really feels. "She would have loved them, Dawn."
I blink tears that trickle over my cheeks and he brushes them away with the pads of his thumbs. "I can see how much they love you, sweetie. I can see how they put you first. That’s all a father can hope for his daughter."
"But I’m here now, and you’re so far away," I say. "I wish…"
"You wish you could be closer?"
Nodding, I bite my lip. Many times I’ve turned over the hand that fate has dealt me, or rather, the place that my decision has brought me to. I love Australia and I love my men, but knowing I’ll hardly see Dad is a bitter pill to swallow.
"Well, I’m thinking about early retirement, honey. And I don’t have much tying me back home. If you want, I can spend a few months here each year."
"You’d do that?" I ask, and when he nods, I throw my arms around his neck, hugging so tightly that I shake when he starts to laugh.
"Of course, I’d do that, especially when you give me some grandbabies."
I take a step back, covering my mouth with my hand in shock. "I’m not ready for babies, yet!" I laugh.
"You’ve got a lot of boyfriends, honey. They’re going to want at least one baby each."
Shaking my finger at him, I walk away quickly. "NO NO NO!!! I’m not having nine children. You’re crazy. They won’t expect that of me. I’m not a cat!"
He laughs, a booming deep chuckle that I haven’t heard for years. "You better have that conversation, sweetheart."
When I put my hand out towards him, he laughs even more.
Mitchell, Jared, Bradley, and Thomas turn at the commotion, and watch with curiosity as I storm towards them, with Dad trailing behind. "He thinks you’re going to want me to have nine babies and I’m freaking out."
Mitchell snorts with laughter and pulls me into a hug, patting my back like I’m a restless baby. "Well, I want at least two of my own, so it might be more. We should get started soon or you won’t be able to fit them all in!"
I struggle from his arms in horror, but he runs his hand through his messy auburn-brown hair and gazes at me with the softest eyes, and I realize he’s joking.
"I wouldn’t mind having three. Will that be enough?" I bite the edge of my fingernail, stressing out that this should have been something we talked about months ago and even more that it could be a make-or-break issue.
"As long as you’re our girl, anything will be enough," Thomas says.
Back at Cloud 9, we help until closing while Dad heads to bed for some well-needed sleep. As we’re emptying the trash, Chantelle and Craig arrive, hand in hand, as they always do on a Saturday night. "Ready to lose at poker?" Craig asks with a challenging wink.