Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 129131 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 646(@200wpm)___ 517(@250wpm)___ 430(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129131 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 646(@200wpm)___ 517(@250wpm)___ 430(@300wpm)
“Really drive?” I ask, and Riley laughs quietly, nodding. “As in what, Fast and Furious style?”
“Actually, you’re not that far off,” Riley says. “He made me promise not to talk about it with Mom, but he would get sent to some scary places for work. Back then, he made it sound like it was silly stuff, people driving on the wrong side of the street or thinking traffic lights were suggestions, so he taught me to drive offensively. In hindsight, he was in dangerous places sometimes.”
“Has your dad ever been in trouble?” I ask, remembering his comment about ‘knowing people’.
“Nope. He mostly works with established partners, ironing out adjustments to deals and stuff like that. But he’s smart, cautious, and knows what’s important—with work and with us at home. He knew that he’d miss some days, so he made sure to turn every day he could with River and me into a celebration.”
“River doesn’t sound as positive,” I admit, thinking back to my conversations with my best friend. “About your dad, I mean.”
“I think River and Dad butted heads more. And River remembers when Dad was home. He didn’t start traveling until after I was born, so I didn’t know any different. But River did, and that was a big change for him. They’re still close. I think River just wishes Dad had been around more.” She shrugs, “But we all know that Dad gave us a hell of a childhood and a good start in life.”
“You got very lucky,” I murmur, and Riley turns to face me, sitting crisscross on the couch beside me.
“Hey, we don’t have to talk about parents if you don’t want to,” she says.
I appreciate that she’s offering me a way out, with no pressure or judgment, but I don’t need it. I place my hand on her knee, absently rubbing circles there. “It was a long time ago, and I’ve dealt with it, mostly pulling myself up by my bootstraps and moving on. I won’t let my dad’s absence be an excuse or a reason for who I am today. I’ve worked hard, I’ve struggled, but I’m successful, and that has nothing to do with him.”
“Is that what life is to you?” Riley asks. “Hard work, struggle, and then . . . what?”
I’m quiet for a moment, thinking about the answer to her question. What do I think life is? What’s been my plan all along?
“I’ve worked hard my whole life, struggling when we had to and struggling when I just needed to, if that makes sense. I have something to prove . . . to myself. I guess I figured I’d work hard, do the whole rat race thing, and climb the corporate ladder until I reached some point where I could say ‘I made it’ and then, I’d finally relax. I’d be secure in my success, know that Mom and Arielle are taken care of, and be there for my wife and kids if I have any. Be a better dad than mine ever was.”
“Family is important to you.” Simple words, but not a simple meaning. I would do anything for the people I care about. And now that includes Riley.
“Very. But now, with you in my life, I realize that there’s more to life than just struggle and strife. That I don’t have to wait until some predetermined level of success to enjoy life. That there’s good around every corner, that it can be as simple as having someone curled up on the couch with me while a spoiled schnauzer chomps down on a bone in the corner.”
Riley turns her head to look over at Raffy, who’s pretty much in heaven. He’s sprawled out on his dog bed, belly to the sky, with a rubberized dog bone in his mouth. His fluffy little paws are holding the toy so he can chew it without dropping it, which he’s mostly doing successfully.
“He is such a mess, but he’s so cute that even when he’s a barking monster, I can’t help but love him,” Riley tells me as she goes gooey-hearted for her puppy.
I pull her legs over mine, wrapping one arm around her back and laying the other across her thighs to hold her. Riley wraps her arms around my neck and lays her head down. “This is pretty sweet. A definite good part of my day. After today, maybe the best part.”
I stay still, letting the weight of her sink into me, grounding me to the moment so I can enjoy every tiny detail of it. I write them all down in my mind, storing them away so I don’t forget a single thing—not the smell of her hair, the squeeze of her arms, or the heat of her body pressed to mine.
This is success. This is happy.
After a while where we’re both silently enjoying each other’s presence, I whisper darkly, “I think I could make the bath be the best part of your day.”