Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 74078 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 370(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74078 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 370(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
“Yes.”
“How?”
His cheek twitches, his tell that he’s not going to be honest. My mom can be a huge pain in the ass, but she doesn’t yell at him. She isn’t mean to him. She has a million opinions, and shares those with stomach-turning frequency, but she isn’t mean. She’s more likely to be dismissive and absent than to actually use energy to get angry.
“She put me to bed ten minutes early last night. My episode of—”
“It’s not nice to lie about people, Ryder. What have I told you?”
“When you lie too much, no one believes you when you tell the truth.”
“Exactly. You may not be happy with Gammy putting you to bed a little early, but that’s not being mean. She loves you.”
“Dad loves me more,” he mutters as he gets distracted by something flashing on the television screen.
I don’t know that there’s much truth to his statement. Travis loves his son, but he just has a terrible way of showing it. I didn’t consider the drinking an issue when we were teens. I drank back then, too. We were having fun. I had to adapt and change how I behaved when I got pregnant. Travis never did. What permission I gave openly by participating before we became parents carried over, but instead of him using alcohol to have a good time on occasion, he used it to cope with stress.
Parenting is hard. You’ll never catch me saying it isn’t. Being responsible for another person, not just physically, but also financially, is stressful. I channeled my energy into that first semester of nursing school and he relied more heavily on alcohol. I miss the days when he was so excited about being a dad. He’d jump up and help change diapers in the middle of the night, but he was also unemployed when I brought the baby home.
When he found a job, he made it very clear that I was the one responsible for nighttime diapers and feedings. I had no issue with it, but then he came home later and later. He complained that he was exhausted because even though I got up with the baby, he was still getting woken up. His tired state didn’t stop him from swinging by the bar after work or leaving late at night when he’d get a text, but I was selfish and unappreciative when I brought it up. It didn’t take long for me to simply ignore him when he was there and have no opinion when he was late getting home.
“So much wasted time,” I grumble, watching Ryder watch the television.
“Maybe I can go to work with you!”
I hate the hopeful look on his face.
“Mr. Porter woke up. You can’t go up there any longer.”
The smile slides from his face as if I just ruined his whole month.
I’ll have to see about getting bingo night off because I know Mom isn’t willing to miss it for any reason.
“I’ll see you in the morning,” I tell Ryder as I walk closer to him after seeing her headlights flash from the driveway.
I press my lips to his forehead, wishing his stubborn streak wasn’t so big. He’s in no mood to offer me a hug right now.
My mind flashes back to Brent asking me if the people who love me also value me, and honestly, right now, I don’t think that Ryder does. I’m the one constant in his life, and those people are the easiest to dismiss.
With my feelings hurt, I walk out of the house.
“I’m going to be late,” I mutter as I walk past Mom.
“Your second shift doesn’t start until six,” she snaps, bending back inside her car to grab the case of soda from the passenger seat.
“I have a meeting with the caseworker beforehand,” I remind her, but she doesn’t look at all guilty for delaying me. “It makes me look bad when I’m late.”
I don’t stick around for her to argue with me. I’ve heard everything she has to say about this entire situation so many times my head hurts before she can even open her mouth.
Since luck has never been on my side, I hit every red light on the way to the caseworker’s office, making me nearly half an hour late by the time I park my car.
I rush to the outside door, but it’s pulled open before I can clasp the handle.
“Mrs. Brunello, I’m so sorry I’m late.”
“I should probably make you reschedule,” she snaps, but she heads back inside. “Turn the lock on the door. I don’t want any surprise visitors.”
I take the seat across from her desk, waiting for her to settle behind her computer. She grips her mouse, clicking a few things on her screen. She isn’t exactly a mean woman, but it’s easy to see she’s a little jaded by the things she deals with in her job.