Total pages in book: 126
Estimated words: 115619 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 578(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115619 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 578(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
I can't help but feel guilty for lying to my boss as I go downstairs and head straight back to the kitchen. I don’t want him to regret hiring me. How was I supposed to know my life would implode around me? I didn’t choose any of this.
There isn't enough coffee in the world to make me feel human this morning, yet something tells me we are both going to need it. One thing I didn't have the chance to do last night while putting the house back together was go out for groceries. It was too late, anyway. I would make breakfast if there were anything more than a few takeout containers and a quart of milk in the fridge. Something greasy to help with the way Dad's going to feel this morning.
This sight of the empty fridge is one more concern to tack on with the rest. This isn't him. He spent years raising me by himself, and we never had help in the house. When I was old enough, I started taking on some responsibilities, but it's not like the man forgot how to go grocery shopping. I came home for last-minute visits during college and never found the house in disarray.
Could it really be true? Could this be the big case he's been working on, exhausting himself with? The case he was finally starting to break the last time we were together? And there I was, without the first clue what it was all about.
I must be the worst daughter in the world, because as I fix a pot of coffee, I don't know whether I want this to all be in his head or not. It’s sad but true. It might be better to think Dad is losing his grip on reality, for at least then it wouldn't mean I’ve betrayed him, my mother, and myself by falling for Callum. How could I be so selfish? Stupid? To think I was falling for the man who ripped my entire life to pieces.
I can't even blame Callum for it. I walked into this knowing he was no good for me. Hell, that was half the fun.
Footsteps overhead make my stomach flip and my pulse stutter, but I pull it together, sitting at the square kitchen table as I cautiously watch Dad shuffle into the room wearing last night’s clothes. “You weren’t a dream,” he murmurs with the ghost of a smile. There’s recognizable pain in his bloodshot eyes, but he leans down to brush a kiss over the top of my head anyway.
“Nope. I’m here, live and in the flesh.”
“I hardly remember you coming in last night.” He opens the refrigerator door and winces when the light hits his eyes. I could’ve told him it was a waste of time.
“I helped you to bed.” I observe him from the corner of my eye while sipping my coffee, waiting for his memory to clear up. Wondering if he’ll remember the things he said.
“I was wondering how I ended up there.” At least he’s not trying to laugh it off. There’s an appropriate amount of sheepishness in his voice. “I’m sorry you walked in on me like that.”
When he reaches for a mug from the cabinet, he finally notices his surroundings. “Wait a second, did you clean the kitchen?”
What was the first hint? Being able to see the bottom of the sink? “No, the housecleaning fairy must’ve visited in the middle of the night,” I joke.
“Honey, you didn’t have to do that.” He sinks into the chair across from me, groaning softly. “I shudder to think of all the questions you must have about how things have been going around here.”
“Questions? Worries are more like it.”
“I don’t need you worrying about your old man.” He takes a gulp of his coffee before setting the mug down, his hands trembling. “Things have been crazy at the station. Sometimes I barely have time to microwave a meal before going to bed. I don’t always notice when the dishes start to pile up.”
Or the dust gets thicker, or the beer bottles line the counter. My teeth sink into my tongue before I can say something that will hurt his feelings. I don’t want to do that. No matter how irritated I am, he either doesn’t remember last night or doesn’t want to admit he does.
It’s like being with Callum, in a way. Wondering if I can say what’s on my mind. If Dad indeed did forget what he said, what happens if talking about it reminds him? I could pretend it never happened, but I don’t know how long I could keep pretending. This will taint every aspect of our relationship, no matter how hard I try to let it go.
His gaze lingers on the clock, and he takes another sip of coffee. “Shouldn't you be getting ready for work by now?”