Total pages in book: 141
Estimated words: 136559 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 683(@200wpm)___ 546(@250wpm)___ 455(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136559 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 683(@200wpm)___ 546(@250wpm)___ 455(@300wpm)
I flash back to yesterday at the diner and the frustrating moment when I didn’t hear the hostess. It’s a too-familiar flicker of fear—what if moments like that become more frequent over time? Maybe not this month. But next year, and the one after? What if I miss more and more over the years?
I need to snag as much work now as I can and save for my uncertain future.
“If she wants me, I’m in,” I say decisively.
Mako offers me a hand to high-five. “I’ll tell Chanda. Hopefully she’ll reach out soon.”
“Thanks, Mako.”
We exchange goodbyes, and I walk a little faster toward my dad’s office, excited to tell him.
Once I’m there, he slides a cup of tea across his desk. “What was that about with Mako?”
I take the cup and a seat, then tilt my head. I’m fairly sure he doesn’t know, but just in case…“You don’t already know?”
He scoffs and laughs. “No. I stay out of anything that doesn’t involve winning games.”
“Fair enough,” I say, then tell him the whole story.
The more I share, the more his eyes twinkle. “And I said yes,” I finish. But then hold up a hand. “This is all presuming Chanda wants to move forward with hiring me.”
My dad punches the air and doesn’t sweat the details. “That’s great!”
I laugh. “Dad, why are you such a goofball?”
“Can I help it if I like having you around?”
“You don’t think it’ll be weird if I work here? If it happens, I mean. It’s just three months to cover his paternity leave.”
“If ‘weird’ means ‘good,’ then yes. I do think so.”
I roll my eyes, but it does feel warm and fuzzy that he likes having me here. “Are you sure? I don’t want to step on your toes. This is your space, after all.”
He sticks out a sneakered foot. “Step on them, please.”
I am so grateful for his support. He’s always been that way. Where other parents would be protective or hesitant, he’s always had my back.
“Fine, I guess I will.” I was already leaning toward yes. I’d only needed to know he was on board. “If she offers officially,” I add.
“How could she not?” he asks. “I’ve seen your pics.”
True, but I have a hunch he skims over the boudoir ones on my website, focusing mostly on my other work. At first, while I was dabbling in boudoir photography I didn’t mention it to him. I wasn’t sure what he’d think of me building a business around sexy photos. I’ve since told him, and he wasn’t weirded out at all, so maybe the worry had all been in my head. A fear that the one parent who adores me might not want to think of his little girl taking, and posing, for sexy shots. But now that I think back on it, maybe the real worry was that he’d be disappointed.
Like Mom was. When she invited me out to New York for the launch of her newest handbag line a year ago, she took me to lunch at a see-and-be-seen eatery on the Upper East Side and asked what I was up to career-wise. When I told her, she tutted, shaking her head over her arugula salad and Perrier, then said, “Darling, I just don’t understand why you spend so much energy on...that. Imagine what we could create if you channeled your talent into something lasting—like handbags. Real art. Something people actually value. You have so much potential, and it’s such a shame to see it wasted on photos that end up hidden away in bedside drawers. Now, let’s put your abilities to real use.”
So, yeah. I guess that’s why I didn’t tell my dad at first. Once burned, twice shy and all. Turns out I didn’t have anything to worry about. His response? “That’s terrific. You’re so talented and it sounds like you find it empowering.”
I should have known he’d be behind me—he’s always supported my dreams.
Like now, and it’s great he’s so thrilled about this opportunity. It makes it easier to imagine working here—though I’ll need to be extra cautious with Miles, for both my sake and my dad’s. I can’t risk causing any complications for him. This is his turf; I won’t mess that up.
“Thank you. I actually really want it to work out,” I say, but I don’t tell him how badly I want to make my mark now. The future is too uncertain.
He takes another sip of his coffee. “Now, maybe we can get Riley a job here too? She could be an usher. Scan tickets, maybe?” I can see the wheels turning in his eyes.
“Yes, let’s definitely encourage her to drop her science and chem homework for that,” I say dryly.
He snaps his fingers, pointing my way. “You’re right. We’ll let her finish school. Get a couple degrees. Then get her in here when you’re full-time, and she can be too—she can be chief statistician for the team.”