Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 77715 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77715 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
But never anything else.
A house.
A husband.
Children.
My life had been too hard, had come at me too fast and usually swinging with both arms, so I didn’t get a chance to imagine a life years in the future.
Now, though, my mind was so busy tossing ideas at me that I was barely conscious of the show on the TV as we snuggled up in bed.
Eventually, we both passed out.
And I woke up with him too.
A cycle that continued for a few days, broken only by appearances of my father, Billie with her teas and salves, Gracie with a sweet care package, and Hope and Vi with their questions about the attack.
Little by little, my side stopped screaming, my headache and the dizziness went away, and the bruises faded.
All in all, it was a week before I finally went back down to the main floor where Dezi was laying out breakfast he’d just picked up for all three of us.
“Ah, what is that?” I asked, coming to a stop when I saw my father holding something fuzzy against his chest.
“Dezi… got me a cat,” he said, looking a mix of puzzled, concerned, and maybe a little pleased.
“Andi’s mom got homes for all of the kittens, but the mama cat needed a home too,” Dezi said as he was pulling containers out of a bag.
I had a knee-jerk objection that I swallowed right back. About my father’s health. About what would happen after he was gone.
In the end, though, having my own pets had been therapeutic for me when recovering. They could be that for my father as well. Especially as he started to feel more and more unwell.
When he was gone, well, the cat could live her life out with me, her daughter, and Rosita. And, if life was even just a little bit fair, Dezi as well.
“Okay. We’ve got pancakes, French toast, waffles, scrambled eggs, breakfast potatoes, hash browns, sausage, bacon, and orange juice.”
“Not a single piece of fruit or veg to be found,” I said, smiling as I sat down.
“Right. Like you’d eat any of it even if I brought it,” Dezi shot back.
“You’re looking better,” my father said as he passed me the container of pancakes.
“I’m feeling better,” I admitted. “I don’t think I’ve ever slept that well before.”
“That’s what I said. Know what he said?” Dezi asked, pointing his thumb toward my father.
“What?”
“That the mattress cost like eight-k.”
“My mattress at my old place was picked up on the street,” I admitted. “It was probably from a box store to begin with. It’s no wonder I’ve slept like shit my whole life.”
“I’m sorry,” my father said.
“What?” I asked, sure I misheard him.
“I’m sorry you had to go through all that. When there was all of this,” he said, waving around the kitchen.
“This wasn’t an option for me,” I said, shrugging, trying not to let old hard feelings come up and ruin the new, good ones.
“Of course it was,” he shot back, his brows drawing low. “All you had to do was come to me. Call me, even.”
“What?” I asked. “No. My mom made it very clear that you wanted nothing to do with us. With me.”
“No,” he said, shaking his head. “No, that wasn’t something I said. It’s not something I ever would have said. Regardless of my interest—or lack thereof—in your mother, I would have always provided for you.”
No.
No, that made no sense.
My mother was so firm about him saying he wanted “nothing to do with” us.
“I don’t think you’re remembering the whole situation clearly.”
“Honey, someone coming and telling me that I have a child is not something I would forget. I just always wondered why your mother didn’t want to come to me herself.”
“Wait… what?” I asked, stiffening. “What do you mean she never came to you herself? Of course she did. She told me you wanted nothing to do with us.”
“Theodora, no,” he said, looking horrified at the idea of me growing up thinking that. “And, no, your mother never came to me. She got a message to me saying that she’d born my child, but wanted nothing to do with me.”
“My mom never would have said that. We struggled so hard. And back in those early days, she was… clean and normal, rational. If she came to you, it was because she wanted the money to try to raise me right.”
And his denial to do so was the main reason her life spiraled so far downward, dragging her helpless little daughter along with her.
“What do you mean a message?” Dezi asked with a mouth full of scrambled eggs, focusing on a small factor that the emotion made me overlook. “Like a note?” he added.
“She’d… she’d met with Frederick,” my father said, looking confused. “She told him that while she was having my baby, she wanted absolutely nothing to do with me. And if I tried to contact her or you,” he said, looking at me, “she would do everything in her power to ruin my life.”