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“I know. I love you too, kid. Bye.”
He tosses the phone back to the top of the table with little finesse and picks up his fork again to dig back into his hash browns. He doesn’t even notice that I’m trying to reconstitute myself from the puddle of goo his conversation formed. Thank everything.
Why is it always like that? Why is a father being loving to his kids always so special? Moms are that way all the time, and no one seems to notice.
I don’t know. There’s, like, some kind of biological trigger or something. My ovaries have fired up the power bank and are ready to start pumping out some product, I’ll tell you that. Little fucking baby factories. Meanwhile, Shell’s here sweating her tits off to make ends meet, and nobody’s banging down her door, trying to give her a glass-plated trophy. The only one who’s seemed to notice is Jake, and for as kindhearted as he is about her situation, I also don’t get the sense that he has in any way, shape, or form tried to date her.
I shake off my weird thoughts and tuck my napkin under the edge of my plate. The food really was delicious, and if it weren’t for the fact that it might seem like I was stalking him, I might just follow Jake here every morning.
I pick up my mug of coffee and hold it in both hands. It’s toasty and smells just as good as it tastes, and I sip on it while Jake finishes his meal in silence, and I surreptitiously watch him the whole time.
He doesn’t notice—at least, he doesn’t let on that he does. But it doesn’t feel weird. Strangely, it feels comfortable.
Like we’ve been doing this forever.
And if that isn’t the scariest fucking thing I’ve admitted to myself in the last ten years of my life, I don’t know what is.
I redirect myself swiftly, though, shoving my feelings of deep spiritual connection as far back in the filing cabinet of my brain as I can get them. I don’t even bother to hook the little end of the folder on the edges. No, I’d rather that fucker fall down through the others and get lost in the bottom of the drawer forever.
Or as Randy Travis once wisely sang… Forever and ever, amen.Jake“Okay. What’s the secret password? How the hell do I get into this thing?”
I look across the cab to Holley, still on the ground, surveying the height of the jump up into my truck with bewilderment.
I’ve never liked running boards, so I specifically ordered my F-350 Platinum without them, and up until now, it’s never really been an issue. At six foot three, I just climb in, and so does Chloe, since she’s five foot seven. But Holley can’t be much over five feet, and apparently, it’s a lot longer way up for her.
“Hold on, I’ll come help you in,” I offer and reach to unbuckle my seat belt.
But she’s quick to deny me. “No, no. Just give me some tips. Some strategy.”
I laugh. Outright. I can’t help it. “I don’t know. I normally just climb in.”
She rotates her eyes toward the sky before focusing back on the challenge—the normally simple task of getting into my damn truck.
Once we finished our breakfast and said goodbye to Shell, I had to help Holley get sand out of her Rubik’s Cube of a sandal in the parking lot. And now, since we’re running late by at least fifteen minutes, having her figure this out quickly would be ideal, but still, I somehow find myself relaxing back into my seat and waiting without impatience. I have a strong, strong feeling this is going to be too good to miss.
“Okay,” she peptalks herself and tosses her purse up into the seat. “If I grab the handle here, maybe I can put a foot here,” she strategizes, stretching out her leg to place the bottom of her sandal to the tire. “And then, maybe, I can just sort of launch myself up.”
I bite my tongue to stop myself from commenting on what sounds like a disastrous idea.
What can I say? Stopping her before she gets started would really spoil the fun…
She seems to figure it out herself, though, taking her foot off the tire and starting from scratch. “No, that seems like it’ll end in a concussion…” She pauses, staring at the door, and considers her options. “I could maybe put my elbows in the seat and lift myself up like I’m getting out of a pool, but that’s normally assisted by the buoyancy of water. I’m not sure a dead-lift of all my weight is going to happen…”
“Holley—” I start to interject, feeling a little bad that this is becoming such a big deal, but she silences me.
“Shh! I’m thinking over here,” she says, rubbing at her chin and then tapping it with her fingertips. “Can I reach this…?”
