Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 106538 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 533(@200wpm)___ 426(@250wpm)___ 355(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106538 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 533(@200wpm)___ 426(@250wpm)___ 355(@300wpm)
My balls instantly shriveled into raisins.
“At recess, Bailey said I have a crush on Miss Obermeier. I said that’s stupid. So Bailey called me a name, but it’s not one I’m allowed to use, so I won’t say it. But then she shoved me, so I shoved her back, and she tripped and hurt her wrist. So I got sent to the principal’s office while Bailey went to the nurse for an ice pack. I know she was faking it just to get attention.” Lola makes the most dramatic eye roll before gulping down her glass of water.
“Why does Bailey think you have a crush on Miss Obermeier?” I ask, unzipping her bag and removing the lunch box filled with a half-eaten chicken sandwich. Her carrots are untouched in the Ziploc, but the chocolate chip cookie Tia made is gone.
“Because she heard me asking Miss Obermeier if she has a husband or boyfriend.”
“That’s weird,” I mumble, handing her the backpack.
“Lola, tell your dad why you asked Miss Obermeier if she’s married or has a boyfriend,” Tia prods, pulling the garlic bread from the oven while Amos retrieves the steaks from the grill.
Eyeing my frizzy-haired girl, I cross my arms and widen my stance.
Lola mirrors me. She’s a little shit. I love her, but she’s all attitude. “Since you didn’t like the lady at Dolly’s Doughnuts this morning, I asked Miss Obermeier. She’s really pretty, and she likes kids.”
“Lola’s trying to find you a date, Ozzy. Why is that?” Tia shoots me that ball-shriveling look while transferring the garlic bread to a basket.
“How should I know?”
Lola pleads her case. “You’re sad and lonely. That’s what Dakota’s mom said. And I don’t want you to be sad and lonely. I know Mom is gone forever.”
Dakota’s mom can suck my dick. Scratch that thought. She’d probably do it.
“Lola.” I cup her face in my hands, forcing her to look at me. “I miss your mom. I’ll miss her every day for the rest of my life. But that doesn’t mean I’m lonely and sad. I have you, and you’re all I need.”
She frowns. “But—”
“No buts. Put your bag in your room and wash your hands for dinner.”
“Fine,” she grumbles, sulking toward the basement stairs.
When Amos and Tia came to stay with us, Lola and I moved to the basement so they could have the two main-level bedrooms. They don’t sleep together, because Amos snores, and Tia gets restless legs syndrome in the middle of the night.
When Lola’s not in earshot, Tia grumbles about the “hideous” retro vibe of the remodel. That also makes me love Lola’s groovy yellow swivel chair and my black Eames lounger a little more. The only furniture we didn’t replace is Brynn’s cream glider, which she used to sit in to rock Lola to sleep.
“We moved here to help with Lola, not so you could date,” Tia says just as Amos brings the steaks into the house. She partially blames me for the car accident, so my happiness is not on her list of priorities.
“Tia, this is all Lola. I’m not sad and lonely. I’m not looking for anyone. But . . .” I pause for a moment.
“But what?” she asks.
“Nothing. Let’s eat.” I take the bread basket from her and carry it to the dining room.
“It hasn’t been long enough,” Tia says as she and Amos follow me.
“Long enough for what?” Lola asks, reaching the top of the stairs. My daughter never misses anything unless I need her to listen; then, she magically hears nothing.
Brynn would have said the same thing about me and my selective hearing.
“Lola, I don’t want you trying to find someone for your dad,” Tia says, sitting beside my snoopy daughter and nodding toward the napkin. According to Tia, I’ve been a little lax in teaching Lola “proper manners,” like protecting her lap when she eats and doing chores without an allowance.
“Why not?” Lola sets her folded napkin on her lap.
Tia leans toward Lola, unfolding it and spreading it over her legs. “That’s a silly question, since you landed in detention today from an incident that started because you thought your dad needed a date.”
Amos uses tongs to set a rib eye on his plate before passing the steaks to me. I can’t read his expression, but I think he’s conflicted. He, too, partially blames me for the accident, but I don’t sense his need to see me repent for eternity, imprisoned in a life of solitude beyond my daughter.
Lola deflates while I cut her steak. If I let her cut it, she’ll give up after one failed attempt and pick up the whole slab of meat, tearing off a chunk with her teeth like a wild animal. It’s not coddling; it’s encouraging manners.
“Did you know I met your mom without anyone’s help?”
She lifts her head.