Page 3 of Mine to Love
I busy myself by pouring him some iced tea, and when the microwave dings, I set his plate in front of him. “I guess I’ll invite myself over for dinner. I’m going upstairs to change. Need anything else?”
He shakes his head. “I’m good.”
I send Emerson a text while I hurry up the stairs.
Reese: Dad kicked me out. On my way in fifteen. That okay?
I drop my phone on my bed and strip out of my skirt and blouse, draping them over the back of my vanity chair. Opting for comfort, I dig out a pair of camouflage leggings and my favorite vintage Pink Floyd sweatshirt. The neckline is torn—intentionally—and hangs off my shoulder.
It’s a sexy look on those models online. On me, it’s about comfort. I think twice about not wearing a bra. If Holden wasn’t going to be home, I’d forgo it. Since I’ll be third-wheeling it, I strap on my bright pink bra and slip the sweatshirt over my head.
I take out a clip and brush my hair, then pile it on top of my head in a messy bun. There’s no need to freshen up my makeup. I’ll be sitting on Emerson’s comfy sofa eating peanut butter and wallowing in my self-pity. I might as well look the part.
By the time I make it downstairs, Dad has already finished his dinner. I help him clean up and wait for him outside the bathroom. He hates relying on me for his everyday needs, but he has no choice.
In the beginning, he couldn’t even use the bathroom or shower on his own. At least he’s gained enough strength in his legs and arms to use a walker or cane around the house. When he is settled back in his favorite recliner, I go through the usual monologue reminding him to call me at the slightest inclination that he doesn’t feel well. A.k.a., he feels a stroke coming on.
The late-March evening is too cool to go coatless, so I slip into my long peacoat and L.L. Bean boots. A fashion statement, I am not. I kiss my father’s cheek and give him a hug.
“I’ll be back to help you to bed.”
“I can make it to bed...by myself.”
He can, now. But I worry. Always.
“Okay.” I grab my keys and leave. We both know I’ll be back before nine, and we both know he’ll be fast asleep in his recliner.
CHAPTER TWO
I haven’t been this exhausted in years. It isn’t anything physical. More mental. At thirty-two, I’m too young to have a midlife crisis, but it sure the hell feels like one. Lately, I’ve been second-guessing every business decision I make. Especially my latest takeover.
I acted on impulse, which isn’t like me.
I landed in Bangor, Maine an hour ago and rented a car for the forty-five-minute drive to my parent’s place in Acadia Falls. They’ll lecture me when I arrive, scolding me for not asking them to come get me. There are three cars in the four-bay garage. Plenty to spare, and no need for a rental.
One thing I don’t care for is relying on others. Even my parents. I’d ask Holden to pick me up but he’s probably cozying up with his fiancé, who is pretty awesome, and Nick and his wife and daughter are a few hours out of the way. Camilla is unpredictable with her social life, and if I’m being honest with myself, I don’t feel like being under her scrutiny.