Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 100466 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100466 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Right now, I'm glad he gives me room to challenge him. He always has. I just don't always see it.
He wants the best for me.
Mom too.
They were doing their best all this time. So many of the ideas I internalized came from other people, from outside, myself.
Some came from them, yes, but I don't blame them for it. They've always made it clear they love me and want the best for me. They've always kept me sheltered and safe.
What more could parents do, really?
Still. I have to push back. A little. One day, I'll want to have sex with someone besides Jackson. One day.
"Seeing as how you're happy for me to experiment, I'm going to pass on having an extra room for Mom and Dad. Not great for my love life."
"Is that how you move on?" Dad chuckles. "That is the best way to get over someone. By getting under someone else."
"Dad!" Too much information!
He shakes his head in mock disappointment. "Some sex researcher."
"I've heard enough about your sex life to fill several books."
"Not from me."
And, yes, I was eavesdropping pretty much every time. But adults talk way more loudly than they think. It's like an invitation to eavesdrop.
Again, he laughs. "Come on, Daph. Let's look at the roof deck."
"There's a roof deck?"
"And a one-bedroom available in the building."
"Dad—" I do not need a spare room for my parents.
"How about a two bedroom?" He bids against himself.
It's a more reasonable offer. (To be as rich as he is, all on my own. Not that Dad did it on his own. He inherited the summer house from his uncle. But he paid for it a few times over on his own).
I want the space for him here. Mom too. I'm sure she'll visit. But Dad has a more flexible schedule. He can write music from anywhere. She has to be there, at the hospital, all the time.
Still, I counter, "How about three?"
"Done." He offers his hand.
I shake.
He smiles. "I would have bought you a penthouse apartment."
"I know."
He pulls me into a tight hug. "I'm going to miss you."
"Me too."
When he releases me, he leads me out the door. "I'll talk to management. Get a key for the other unit." He leads me to the elevator. "Meet you at the roof deck."
"Okay." The down elevator comes first. He waves on his way into it. Then the up. It's fast, but it feels like a million years.
There's something happening here.
Dad is being weirder than normal. Or maybe it's me. Maybe I'm still adjusting to the East Coast.
The elevator dings as I arrive. I step into the sunshine.
It's a beautiful day. Warm and sunny, with a light breeze. There isn't a cloud in sight.
June gloom was here yesterday. Today, the city welcomes me with a little taste of California weather.
The deck, like the apartment itself, is small but nice. The size of my parents' living room, with green and beige couches and chairs.
One is occupied by a couple in their forties. Another hosts a woman and her dog. Two businessmen stand at the railing, smoking cigars (actual cigars).
Another guy in a suit stands in the corner, alone.
I move toward the couches, and I see it.
That's not a random stockbroker.
That's Jackson.
I pinch myself, but the view doesn't change. Jackson is standing in front of the railing in a navy suit and a silver tie, a thick textbook tucked under his arm.
A study guide for the New York State Bar.
It's only been two weeks (thirteen days, if you want to get technical) since I've seen him, but the familiarity still overwhelms me.
I want to be close to him. I want to be with him.
If he's here with that book—
I don't let myself think it. Not all the way.
He catches me staring and nods.
I nod back.
He moves toward me first. "How do you like the building?"
"I like the view." It comes out like a cheesy pickup line.
But that only makes him smile. "I like it a little better than I did a minute ago."
My chest warms. My stomach too. Maybe cheesy pickup lines work. Maybe they're clichés for a reason.
Maybe I should take him back to that demo apartment and have my way with him.
Or I could do it right here.
Right here is good.
"What are you doing here?" I ask.
"Your dad—I begged him to help with the surprise," he says.
"Are you…" I don't know how to finish my thought. Is he looking for an apartment? Is he moving to New York? Is he mine.
"No. I have a place a few blocks from here," he says. "And a job. Alexander knows a lot of people."
"Are you…"
"I'm in an Airbnb right now," he says. "But I'm looking for a roomie. Do you know anyone looking for a place in New York?"
"I might," I say. "What's the neighborhood?"
"This one is nice," he says. "The firm is two avenues down."