Total pages in book: 48
Estimated words: 46257 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 231(@200wpm)___ 185(@250wpm)___ 154(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46257 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 231(@200wpm)___ 185(@250wpm)___ 154(@300wpm)
“Remember, years ago, when internet stocks and dot.com stuff was laughed at on Wall Street?”
He frowns, but I notice his eyes widening some.
“Well…when I was about Bridgett’s age, maybe a little older, I didn’t know anything about the stock market and still don’t. But I did have a few thousand to invest.”
I let my words sink in, but both her parents only blink.
“So? You have some internet stocks, big deal,” they cry in chorus.
I can feel Bridget’s eyes on me, wondering what the hell I’m talking about.
With a patient sigh, I fish my phone out of my pocket, and although it’s been ages since I checked, I bring up my portfolio from my trading app.
I hold it out just far enough for her Mom and Dad to see.
Her dad is rubbing his eyes before his shoulders sink.
“I see,” he whispers dryly. And I tuck my phone away again, feeling like that was a low blow to dish out in front of Bridget.
But they kinda did ask for it.
The change in her Mom is instant, and she takes my arm now, inviting me to sit down so we can talk this through.
“…Like adults,” she exclaims, giving her husband the evil eye and narrowing hers on his as he struggles to digest what he’s seeing and hearing.
“You never told me you traded stocks,” Bridget murmurs, tugging at my jacket sleeve as she joins me on the couch.
“I don’t,” I murmur back. “I only bought what I bought back then and forgot about them for years. I focused on my firefighting career,” I tell her.
And decades later?
Well, even I’m surprised by the numbers on my phone. But I’ve never thought of cashing them in because I’ve never had a reason to.
Until now.
“I’ve got a lot of time owing from the department,” I explain to them both. “And I’d like to finish the farmhouse I’ve been renovating. I’d like Bridget to help me. I’d like her to move in,” I tell them point blank.
Deliberately leaving out the parts about my baby in her belly. About the same house I wanna fill with our kids.
But everything I have planned for our family can, and should include Bridget’s parents.
Family is family, after all.
And I think it slowly dawns on her Mom that we could all be very comfortable.
If only they’d loosen their weird grip on their daughter, who’s an adult now anyway.
A real woman who can make up her own mind.
Mom’s all ears by now, but Dad’s having a huff, still shaking his head and scratching his temples. Probably asking himself why he didn’t buy the same stocks when they were pennies each.
Bridget suggests we make some coffee and bundles me into the kitchen. Explaining it’s customary for her to give her parents privacy so they can have their own little discussions whenever there’s anything major going on with her. Like when she took her job. It needed their seal of approval, even though it was her Dad who set it all up in the first place.
Like I said, they’re not bad people.
Just strange.
It’s past dark by the time I’ve sat through way too many cups of coffee and listened to their concerns, fears, and everything in between. I think we’re in the clear.
They’re not over the moon about it, but even Bridget and I could hear them talking about letting her room out.
To make some money, which I get the strong impression they need.
It almost feels more like a hostage negotiation than a meet the parents, but in the end, and especially seeing how happy Bridget is, they loosen up.
A little.
They agree to a ‘trial period’ for our new and, in their own words, ‘premature relationship.’
Surprised I don’t have to sign anything, Bridget and I finally say our goodbyes, with the promise that she calls them every day.
I can live with that, and I’m double glad I opted for the farmhouse.
The thought of dealing with her parents in person every day?
I think that’s gonna take some time before we all feel comfortable around each other. But they can’t ignore her happiness, and they definitely can’t ignore the prospect of having her ‘boyfriend’ being able to provide her with more than just a roof over her head.
“That went well,” Bridget groans sarcastically, rolling her eyes and growling as she pretends to pull her hair out after we pull out of the driveway. My foot, feeling heavy on the gas.
Eager to get my woman home where she belongs.
“I think it did,” I smile after a long silence between us, patting her knee as she chews her lip.
We pass the burger joint we stopped at not so long ago. “Hungry?” I ask, and she tells me she’s ravenous.
“Then it’s a good thing I promised to have you home by supper,” I remind her. Pulling her across the bench seat so she can lean on me all the whole way home.