I elbowed him in the ribs. “I’m not a kid, dad, I’m twenty-one.”
“I don’t care if you’re fifty, you’re still my kid. And I’m proud of you.”
For what? I wanted to ask, but I resisted. I should have been finishing my degree. I should have been searching out internships and starting my career.
Instead I was fixing old chairs and working at the mall. Yeah, lots to be proud of.
But I didn’t want to ruin the moment, so I didn’t say any of it. I just smiled up at him. “Feel like spaghetti?” I asked. “I think we have garlic bread.”
“Sure,” he said, following me up the steps and into the house. “How was your day?”
I pulled noodles out of the cupboard and filled a pot, pondering what to say to Dad about the man who’d reappeared in my life, striding right out of a Forbes magazine and seeing me in all my pathetic glory.
I settled on nothing.
“Pretty good. Went shopping with Annie. How about you?”
“Great,” he said, with surprising bounce to his voice.
I glanced over my shoulder. “Yeah?”
“They’re talking about giving me a new district to manage. My own company rig.”
“Wow, really?” I turned, resting a hip on the counter. “Dad, that’s amazing.”
“I guess they really missed me while I was out,” he said, beaming. “Sales took a dive and never quite came back. So now they want me to work with a couple new guys, figure out what they’re doing wrong and get them set up.”
My heart swelled at the pride in his voice. He sounded more and more like his old self with every passing day. What had once seemed so impossible now seemed in our grasp. “That sounds like a promotion.”
“It is,” he said, opening up his lunch cooler to reveal a bottle of champagne. “The formal offer came today.”
“Dad that’s amazing!” I said, rushing over to hug him.
Finally, finally, some good news in this house. We all deserved it. “I’m so proud of you!”
I knew my words mirrored his own just moments before, but it was the truth. After a year of grieving, he’d pulled himself out of the dark place he’d been dwelling in. Gone back to work, proved his worth, and started building something.
“Thanks, Ren. I knew you’d be excited.”
His eyes shimmered, just the slightest bit, glittering with tears he was holding back. He wanted to celebrate with Mom. He wanted to dance across the kitchen the way they once did, celebrating his good news together, between kisses and laughter.
I wanted that for him, too, more than I could stand to remember.
“I’m going to shower. Go ahead and open that,” he said, leaving the kitchen.
So maybe life wasn’t totally perfect yet. It would never really be perfect again.
But maybe it was okay to be perfectly imperfect, and find happiness in the space my mom left behind.
Chapter 3
The only upside to working at the mall was that it didn’t open until ten. By the time I arrived at work the next morning, my hair had air-dried and I’d had two cups of coffee.
I’d needed that extra cup, since my sleep had been restless, filled with dreams of Landon Hill, and I’d woken up feeling like I wanted to sleep away the rest of the day if possible. But it wasn’t possible—I had work to do.
The herbal supplements kiosk I ran was around the corner from Cinnabon, so I had to walk through the cinnamon and noxious sugar fumes as I arrived at work. The kiosk had roll down doors on each side, so I unlocked them and shoved them up, exposing the little plastic bottles and placards proclaiming things like “Lowers your blood pressure!” and “Improves circulation!”
I didn’t really buy into that crap. I bought into a help wanted sign, nothing more. I wanted to be a chemist, not a natural remedist.
I wasn’t even sure if remedist was a word, actually. It seemed like it should be.
I busied myself dusting the bottles and arranging a new tower of zinc tablets, our biggest mover. It was a total crock, though, because according to one zillion studies, zinc wouldn’t actually cure a cold. One of these days, I was pretty sure I’d find a bottle of snake oil.
I opened the cash drawer, counting out the hundred dollars’ worth of bills and change I was supposed to start each day with.
And then I climbed up onto my stool and stared at my watch.
10:07. Only seven hours and fifty-three more minutes sitting there.
God, I hated my life sometimes.
I slid out an issue of Cosmo, even though I’d read it cover to cover at least a dozen times. Maybe this read through, I’d master “101 ways to show him you’re interested!”
Granted, the first tip was to blink a lot so he “Meets your gaze and notices your dazzling eyes!” and I wasn’t sure I bought that one. I tried it with a customer six days ago when I first read it and he asked me if I had something in my eye.
I flipped to the next page, which proclaimed that “Playing with your hair is sure to look flirty!” when I sensed someone standing beside me.