Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 63563 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 318(@200wpm)___ 254(@250wpm)___ 212(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63563 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 318(@200wpm)___ 254(@250wpm)___ 212(@300wpm)
Normally, I’d fire something snarky off, but I just nod and follow Ash out to his car. He doesn’t drive at breakneck speed, and he doesn’t lay on his horn. He’s a nice person all the way over to my dad’s house, and it’s like he doesn’t want to upset me and have me bail on this at the last minute. If only he knew how important this is to me. To have my dad get help. If Ash can convince my dad to see a therapist, maybe I’ll admit he’s not an asshole. I’d even sign a testimony stating it.
“Here we are.”
As we pull up, I realize Ash remembered the directions from last night since he didn’t put the address in his GPS.
I’m so nervous that I feel like I could throw up all the nothing in my stomach from not eating all day. I’m sweaty beneath the long-sleeved shirt I have on and my jeans. When you have leg sweat going on, you know you’re in trouble.
“Just wait here. Let me go in first.”
“Actually, I think I should go in with you. You could introduce me to your dad, and then we could talk.”
“I’ll exit right around the time he starts throwing lamps at you.”
“Good plan. Or before that. After you let him know who I am. You could wait in the kitchen or somewhere to give us some privacy to talk. Sometimes parents won’t say things when their kids are around because they want to spare them.”
I roll my eyes at that. “My dad doesn’t care about sparing me. You should hear the things he’s told me in the past.”
“Maybe this is different. Maybe he’s embarrassed and wants help but doesn’t know how to ask. He maybe doesn’t want you to have to be responsible for him getting his act together or getting him back on track.”
I could point out that my dad doesn’t mind me cleaning up his messes, but I guess that’s uncharitable, and it’s also untrue. Dad used to protest like crazy when I’d pick up wrappers, do his laundry, or the dishes. I guess, over time, he just gave up on fighting about it with me, which is also very, very sad.
“Okay, whatever. Let’s just go do this.” As I spring the door handle, I realize just how terrible of an idea this might be. “Uhh….” I race to get in front of Ash, blocking the door to the house. I lower my voice to a whisper. “Don’t tell my dad what your name is, okay? He won’t accept any help from you if he knows who you are.”
“He wouldn’t recognize me anyway?”
“I…I don’t know. God help you if he does.”
Ash recoils. “What do you mean? What have I done? I haven’t even met the man as far as I know. Have I?”
“No.” At least that’s not a lie. I don’t think my dad has. He met Ash’s Granny, yes, but not Ash himself.
“Then why would he hate me?”
“He, uh, he thinks you’re a rich asshole.”
Ash’s right brow curls up. “Oh really? Apparently, the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. Or is this a case of the tree doesn’t fall far from the apple?”
“Apples don’t fall far from trees. That’s a stupid saying because it’s a given. And no, I suppose the tree wouldn’t fall far from the apple. If the tree fell over, it would likely crush the apple. Or, if you’re speaking about a future tree or trees that develop from the apple because the apple contains seeds, then I suppose it wouldn’t fall at all. It would technically grow.”
“I’m sorry I asked,” Ash groans. “Are you sure you’re actually a maid? Because I’m very sure you could make a convincing case for going and getting an English degree or something if you don’t like cleaning houses.”
“I, uh, yup.” Holy shit, this is way too close for freaking comfort here. If we were playing the hot-cold game, Ash would be very, very hot. Maybe we’re always playing the hot and cold game because he’s always hot. Christ. I digress… “I love cleaning. You’ve seen me in action twice. At your house and my dad’s. Can you doubt it?”
“Apples and trees…” Ash mutters. He waits for me to open the door, and we step in.
Just like last night, the blinds are closed, the curtains are drawn, the lights are off, and the only noise in the house is the TV blaring about someone who murdered their spouse. I’m really not surprised, though I’m dismayed. I get the same sinking feeling every time I walk in here. I guess I keep hoping that one day, my dad will come out of this, and he’ll just be back to normal. Back to his old, driven, smart, witty self who always worked so hard for everything and cared so much about everyone around him.