Page 16 of Beautiful Crazy
“Hey, Dad. How have you been?”
“I’ve been fine,” he grunts.
“That’s good. I’m getting settled in Blossom Beach.”Thanks for asking,I think, but don’t bother saying. “Metwith a contractor this afternoon about putting a new roof on Grandma’s house and laying down some new flooring.”
“It’s a waste of money,” he mutters. “I could’ve told you that. The house probably needs more work than it’s worth. I never understood your grandmother’s need to live all the way out there in the middle of nowhere.”
Rolling my eyes because,here we fucking go again, I grit my teeth but say nothing. This is the same argument he gave me when I told him about my decision to move. He’s been this way my entire life. If it’s not something Richard Windward’s way, then it’s the wrong way, and he’ll spend every last ounce of his breath making sure you know it. It’s one of the main reasons why we’ve butted heads since I was a teenager and learned to speak up for myself.
Ignoring his comment, I say, “I found a box in the closet full of pictures of us from when I was younger. Found some of you and I one year when we were decorating your office. I should send them to you and Mom. I think she’d like to have them.”
My dad hums by way of response, and I can practically see him in my mind’s eye, typing away on his computer in his office, probably not even registering a single thing I’m saying. He’s the definition of the phrase ‘in one ear and out the other.’
“Son, if there’s no pressing matters, I’m going to have to get off the phone. We can’t all drop everything in our lives to move to some unknown town. Some of us actually have work to do.”
I wince, his words cutting deep, even though I’m not at all surprised. This is who he is—who he’s always been—and I don’t even know why I bother anymore. Most of the time,I don’t, but every once in a while, like today, I have the urge to reach out. Maybe it’s out of some misplaced sense of loyalty because he’s my father. Because he did so much for me growing up. Although, did he really do so much for me? Or did he just shell out money whenever he needed to parent?
Looking back, it was always my mom there. Baseball practices, games, birthday parties… it was all her. Sure, he paid for it all, but he was hardly ever there. He was always at work, and growing up, I thought that was normal. Thought that was what all dads did. They had to work to make the money, and it’s how all the men around me were. My friends’ dads were the same exact way. It wasn’t until high school, when I met my best friend, that I realized not every household was like that.
“All right, Dad.” I blow out a breath. “Well, take care of yourself and tell Mom I love her.”
“Yup, bye.”
Cold.That’s one word I’d use to describe Richard Windward.Pretentiousis another.
Loving, caring, empathetic… those are all words that wouldn’t even make it on the list. It’s a wonder I turned out as well as I did, given that he was my role model.
Stuffing the pictures back in the box, I disregard it on the floor as I stand and leave the room. Suddenly, the last thing I want to do is look back on my so-calledhappychildhood.
Thanks, Dad.
Eight
Gemma
Mondays are my favorite night of the week.
It’sBachelornight, which means me, Grace, and our bestie, Charley, all go to Georgia’s house for wine and copious amounts of snacks while we all watch the show. We’ve done this for years now, and it never gets old. Mine and Grace’s kids get to play together in the backyard for a couple of hours as the four of us get in some quality girl time.
“Have you told Charley and Georgia about your hottie neighbor yet?” Grace asks, a smirk tugging on her lips as I glower at her from across the living room.
Popping a cheese cube in my mouth, I say, “No, because there’s nothing to tell.”
She snorts. “Oh, I beg to differ.”
“Do tell,” Georgia drawls, bringing her glass up to her lips and taking a sip of her wine.
“Somebody moved into the house next door, and he happens to be kind of attractive.” I shrug. “It’s no big deal.”
“Rosie’s house?” Charley asks.
“That’s the one.”
She grins. “Oh, I met him. When he got into town, he stayed at the inn for a couple days until he got the keys.” Looking to Grace, Charley says, “He isreallycute.”
“See!” Grace’s eyes widen with amusement as she looks over at our sister. “He’s really cuteandhe was flirting with Gemma.”
“He was not.”