Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 65944 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 330(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65944 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 330(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
“It will be all right. Maybe they won’t stay long.” He reaches for his door handle, and panic fills my chest. There is no way I want to subject him to even a moment of my parents’ presence.
“Wait.” I reach out quickly and grab his arm, stopping him. “I…” I clear my throat. “I think you should just go.”
“Go?” he repeats, sounding pissed or hurt, I don’t know which, and it doesn’t help that I can’t read his expression.
“It’s just—”
“You don’t have to explain. I get it. You can’t be seen with the help.” He lets go of the door, and I release my hold on his arm like he burned me.
“Tide.”
“Go on inside, Aria.” He starts the engine of the truck and looks out the windshield.
I stare at his profile for a moment, silently begging him to look at me, and as the seconds tick away, anger curls in my belly. “Just so you know, I think it’s really jerkish that you’re thinking the worst of me without giving me a chance to explain.” I set the bag of food on the seat between us, refusing to look at him when he calls my name as I get out and slam his door. His headlights light the way to my porch, and only when I reach the bottom step do they reflect against the siding as he drives away.
“Who was that?” my dad asks in greeting, his and Mom’s eyes focused over my shoulder.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, ignoring his question and the slight slur of his words that lets me know he’s had a few drinks this evening.
“We came to check on you and bring you dinner.” Mom turns to face me, her nose scrunching as her gaze roams over me from my head to my toes. “I hope you weren’t in town dressed like that.”
“I was.” I don’t tell her that I didn’t get out of the truck. Part of me just wants to annoy her. Another part of me wants to throw it in her face that she no longer has control over me.
“If you ever want to find another husband, you really should present yourself in a better manner,” she informs me, pulling her Fendi handbag that probably cost a small fortune up over her shoulder. As always, my mother is impeccably put together from her dark dyed hair that is pulled away from her botoxed face in a tight twist, to her black flats with a golden Fendi F embroidered across the top. They match her bag and belt, with black slacks and a pressed white button-down shirt that I’m sure is covered in enough starch to make wrinkles run for cover.
“Well, I guess it’s a good thing I’m not looking for a husband.” I roll my eyes, hearing my dad snort like he’s fighting back laughter. My eyes meet his, and when I see his warm smile, I wish it was real. I wish his smile and the warmth behind it was genuine, but it’s not. My dad while drinking is sweet, funny, and kind, but that’s not who he really is. Sober, he is ruthless, cold, unforgiving, and callous. Jekyll and Hyde have nothing on him. Where my mother is upfront with her disapproval, my father hides his while drinking, but always remembers when he sobers up.
“Do not encourage her, George,” Mom snaps as I walk toward the door, digging my key out of my purse.
“She’s funny, Beatrice,” he mumbles as I shove the key in the lock and push the door open, flipping on the lights before going inside.
“I thought you paid for movers,” Mom says, following me inside, disapproval clear in her tone as I walk the few steps to the kitchen.
“I did.” I drop my bag on the couch and turn to face her as she glances around.
“And you allowed them to leave your furniture in your kitchen and hallway?”
“The living room is being painted, and carpet is being put in. I didn’t see the point of having the furniture being placed in there when it would only have to be taken right back out,” I inform her, wondering if I’m going to have to look for a different contractor after what happened with Tide tonight. My heart sinks at the thought of not seeing him again.
“That makes sense, honey,” Dad says as he walks around the house, taking everything in. “It’s smaller than yours and Josh’s house in San Francisco,” he points out when his eyes meet mine.
“Yeah,” I agree, not having much else to say. The house Josh lived in was big, bigger than most newlyweds need, but we bought that house when my focus was on starting a family of my own. At a time when I truly thought I was in love, that I was loved in return. As much as I wish I had a child of my own, I’m glad Josh was set on waiting to try, even if at the time his decision killed me a little. It wasn’t that I wanted a family with him; it was that I wanted a family, period, a family to belong to, a family to belong to me.