Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 85876 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 429(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85876 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 429(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
His reaction actually shocked me. I mean, he cheated on my mom a dozen or more times, so I assumed he would have some kind of weird sympathy for Bowie. Really, I thought he’d attempt to convince me to give Bowie a second chance, which is why I didn’t tell him nor my mom that I was leaving Bowie until I moved out of the house. I did not expect either of them to encourage me to follow through with the divorce or to tell me I deserved better.
Really, I wanted to ask my mom if she ever thought she deserved better, but I knew that wouldn’t be fair to her, especially after so many years. As far as I know, my dad’s last affair took place when I was in my senior year, and I confronted him myself about what I found out through friends. I still remember the embarrassment and devastation on his face as I told him that I thought he was disgusting and hoped Mom would leave him.
It sucked doing that, but up until then, him cheating was just something I knew about, because I lived in the house with him and my mom. My friends telling me they knew he was sleeping with someone else had rocked my world. We hardly spoke the six months before I graduated and moved out, and there was always an awkward tension when we were in the same room. And although I think we’ve both made attempts to better our relationship over the years, it never felt the same until recently.
Spinning my empty salon chair around, I take a seat and put my cell to my ear.
“Hey, Dad.”
“Hey, cookie,” he greets with a smile in his voice. “I got some great news.”
“What’s that?”
“Mom and I just bought an RV.”
“What?” I watch myself frown in the mirror above my station.
“A friend of mine was selling his RV, and your mom and I just bought it,” he says, sounding excited.
“You bought an RV,” I repeat, picturing him standing outside one of those giant buses that take up the whole road, a smile on his face.
“Yep, and as soon as we finish out this school year, we’re heading your way,” he says, and I know he’s referring to summer break, since he’s the principal at the high school where I grew up, and my mom teaches fifth grade, something that gives them both the summer off from work.
“Do you even know how to drive an RV?”
“No, but I’m going to take a class, and so is your mom.”
“That doesn’t make me feel any better,” I mumble.
“Cookie, it’s just a car.”
“It’s not a car.” I rub my forehead. “And Tennessee is at least a three-day drive from where you live.”
“Well, since we have the RV, we’ll be able to take our time. We’re thinking it will probably take us a week to get to you, since we’ll stop and do some sightseeing on the way.
“Dad, I love that, but I don’t have anywhere for you to park an RV when you get here. I live in an apartment complex,” I remind him gently, not wanting to burst his bubble—even though it’s a bubble that definitely needs to be burst.
“There are RV parks around you. I’ll make a reservation at one of those, then rent a car,” he says easily, then adds. “I figured we’d stay for a couple of weeks, then head up to New York, since your mom has always wanted to see a show on Broadway. And we’ll stop back by you before we start are trek home.”
“It would be awesome to see you guys,” I give in, because it would be great seeing my parents, and I’d love for Kingston to have some time with them, especially since he only really knows them as voices on a phone.
“Then it’s a plan. I’ll send you pictures when I get off the phone.”
“Okay,” I agree on an awkward laugh.
“Love you, kid.”
“Love you too, Dad.” I hang up and grab the broom I had been using, trying not to think about my parents, who are both in their late fifties, driving a rock-star bus across the country.
“We’re all set for tonight,” Emma sings, and I turn to watch the door to the salon close behind her as she holds a hot-pink sash over her head.
“Oh, Lord,” I groan as she comes to where I am and puts the sash over my head. “I’m not wearing this,” I inform her, looking down at the black glitter letters that spell out Just Divorced along with a QR code so people can send money to a pay app for drinks.
“Just indulge me for one night. It’s going to be fun.” She slaps my hand away when I attempt to take it off.
“I agreed under distress to go out with you and the girls tonight. I didn’t agree to have my newly single status used for free drinks.”