Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 85725 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 429(@200wpm)___ 343(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85725 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 429(@200wpm)___ 343(@250wpm)___ 286(@300wpm)
“Do you think you’re capable of holding a steady job with it?”
“Absolutely, sir.”
“Charles.”
“Charles.” Archer kindly tips his head. “I don’t think they’ll be an issue, but if I am ever hired for a job again, I will disclose that information.”
Dad offers him an almost proud grin that his wife swiftly swipes away. “He’s lying.”
My father’s sigh is so heavy it knocks me back in my seat. “He’s not lying, Mags.”
“He has to be.”
“Why? Because you don’t like that our daughter isn’t shacked up with another guy that was on the cover of Forbes?”
Archer snaps his head over at me. “Chris was on the cover of Forbes?”
“Just…once…”
“He’s making all this shit up,” Mom grumbles and reaches for her wine. “All of it to manipulate her. And you, which is clearly working. And me, which it isn’t.” She chugs down a gulp. “You should be better about spotting a con man, Charles. Where are all those skills that made you a damn good detective?!”
“They were used to verify that the man sitting next to our little girl is who the fuck he says he is. You know I ran all of his information long before she gave it to me.”
See.
“I’ve known who he was, where he’s lived, where he’s been stationed, how many times he paid his car payment late, and so much more, practically since they met.”
“Dad.”
He tosses me a sarcastic stare. “I asked you for the information first. Just because you didn’t give it, didn’t mean I wasn’t going to get it. We both know that.”
Ugh. We do…but still!
“Archer Cox was an orphan who was raised in foster care and served in the United States Army. He was severely wounded. Honorably discharged. The trail from what should’ve been recovery to the moment he landed on our daughter’s doorstep is a fucked-up mix of missed paperwork, laziness, and proof that people often stop giving a shit about you when you stop being able to provide something for them. His list of couple priors correlate to some of our harsher weather days – his stints used to escape the cold and bitterness – and his medical record indicates no signs of current or heavy past substance abuse.” Dad picks up his fork. “The young man’s only crime is agreeing to come to dinner tonight.” He stabs at the mushroom. “No one deserves the shit you’re putting him through for no reason.”
“It’s not for no reason! I’m worried about our daughter! You’ve seen how outrageous she’s been behaving lately.”
“You mean how she’s stopped just doing everything that makes you happy and started making herself happy. Like she said?”
New waves of fury boil out of Mom in a flustered, incoherent tizzy.
“Mom,” pushing the appetizer plate away is done in tandem with proceeding, “I thought it was important for the people I love to finally meet, which is why we wanted to have dinner together tonight; however, it is clear that while I’m ready for this moment, you are not.”
Her jaw tumbles unexpectedly to the table.
“I refuse to subject Archer to this bullshit any longer.” Gently pushing to encourage him to get out of the booth begins. “And you know what? You may hate that he’s nothing like Chris, that he’ll never be anything like him, but to me? That’s one of the best parts.”
More rage rips through her wide-eyed gaze.
“Enjoy your dinner, Mom.” I offer my father the best smile I can find. “Dad.”
“Enjoy your Gloria’s, sugar.”
“How did you-”
He presents me a wink alongside a chuckle.
The man really is too good at his job.
“We’ll try this again when she’s ready.” One more glance is given my mother’s direction. “When she’s ready to accept that the man I once loved is gone. When she’s ready to accept that I have actually moved on like she hasn’t.” Meeting Dad’s stare occurs again. “Text me when you get home to let me know you made it safe?”
“Isn’t that my line?” Dad playfully jeers.
He’s given a good-natured eye roll, a goodbye kiss on the cheek, and a cordial handshake from Archer.
Our ride home consists of the aforementioned stopped for Gloria’s Grande Burgers, although instead of getting it to go, we opt to eat there. We don’t discuss the disaster we left behind but use the chance to talk about the book club book he’s a little further in than he was on Friday. Gushing about books calms me down like he knows it will while it also lifts his mood to feel like he truly has the active role in my life we spent the evening claiming he has.
Upon entering our house, Archer immediately ditches the sweater alongside our shoes, giving me a reason to snicker enroute to the couch. “The sweater was not that uncomfortable.”
“It felt like Dune, Dane’s toddler, had me in a hug he refused to let me out of.”