Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 128742 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 644(@200wpm)___ 515(@250wpm)___ 429(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128742 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 644(@200wpm)___ 515(@250wpm)___ 429(@300wpm)
Which is to say I love my dad, but he’s becoming an emotional basket case, and the overbearing father routine is wearing on me.
“Dad, as much as I’m sure you’d prefer me to spend the rest of my college education locked in my bedroom, I can take care of myself. Time to cut the cord, buddy. I’m a big girl now.”
“You don’t get it. I know how easily a few drinks turns into a few lines of coke…”
Oh, for the love of…
“Yeah, can we circle back on this? I’m kinda in the weeds over here.”
I end the call without waiting for a response. If I indulge him, he’ll only work himself into a frenzy.
When I applied for this program to spend my sophomore year at Pembridge University London, it was at the suggestion of my European history professor and in a stupor induced by Peaky Blinders, The Crown, and Love Island. And although my grades from freshman year were excellent and my professors were happy to write letters of recommendation, I didn’t believe for a minute I’d actually be accepted. Getting the email sent my entire life into a tailspin. Suddenly, I had to break the news to my hyper-protective father that I was not only moving out but leaving the country.
With D-Day now at our doorstep, he isn’t taking it well.
“Maybe there’s an online program.”
I nearly jump three feet in the air when I emerge from the closet with heaps of clothes in my arms to see him standing in the middle of my room.
“Jesus, Dad! You’re disconcertingly stealthy for a man your age.”
“How about it?” he pushes. “Online learning would suit you.”
“No, it would suit you. And forget it. This is happening. The car will be here any minute. I’ve already sent the first month’s rent to my roommates.”
Which reminds me I still haven’t heard from them, so I grab my phone to find I have a couple of missed texts from a very long phone number. That’ll take some getting used to.
Lee: Cheers, babe. Can’t wait to meet you. We’ve got your room ready and some housewarming gifts Jackie and Jamie think you’ll love. Emailed directions to the flat. Don’t follow the Google directions. They’re shit. See you tomorrow. Today? I’ve lost count xx
“And why haven’t I talked to these roommates?” Dad asks, the worry lines on his face growing deeper. “We don’t know anything about them. You could get there and find out your apartment is a warehouse by the docks and some men are waiting to throw a bag over your head.”
“Ugh, you’re exhausting.”
I type out a quick response to Lee, then pocket my phone.
“I found them on the same site Gwen used to find a house share for her semester abroad,” I remind my father. “Everyone on there is vetted with a background check. The university even recommended it. It’s legit.”
Because I can’t get a grip on time zones, we haven’t yet gotten on the phone or video chat for the formal introductions. Just emails and text messages usually sent while the other is asleep. But the digital conversations Lee and I have exchanged over the last couple weeks were encouraging. So far she seems nice. A senior, so a couple years older than me. And there are two other girls already living there.
“I’d feel better if I could speak to them,” Dad says. “Maybe talk to their parents.”
“Their parents? Really? I’m not spending the night for a sleepover. These are adults.”
He narrows his eyes at me, his lips flat. “That doesn’t make me feel any better.”
“And I suggest you work on that with Dr. Wu.”
I give him a little smirk over my shoulder, which he definitely doesn’t appreciate.
Dad takes a seat on the end of my bed. He runs his hand through his shaggy hair and scratches at his stubble. It’s moments like this—for no particular reason—that I remember how weird it is to be Gunner Bly’s daughter. It’s a big part of the reason I didn’t want my roommates to know who my father is before I was able to move in. It only makes things…complicated.
My whole life, I’ve been surrounded by people pretending to be my friend so they could get closer to him. Never knowing who to trust. Constantly disappointed by empty relationships. He moved us out of LA, out here to the ranch outside Nashville, to get away from the fame seekers and sycophants in favor of a quieter kind of life. And it is. Mostly. There’s still the odd groupie or two that slips through. A fan or someone hoping to launch their own career. Sometimes an entrepreneur in the market to sell photos and gossip to TMZ.
I learned at a young age that there are pitfalls and vipers everywhere. It’s why I don’t even use social media. So I don’t begrudge my dad his neuroses. I just wish he’d give me a little room to breathe while I work out my own.