Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 72853 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 364(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72853 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 364(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
I don’t say anything, but Aspen knows. She wraps her arms around me again. They barely reach, but she holds on so freaking tight. For all she’s worth. I drop my head and breathe in the scent of my shampoo in her hair.
“I’ll come to Atlanta.” Sure, I can go. I can try. Fuck, I think I’d even dig around in dirt like she suggested if she wanted me to. I’d probably do just about anything for Aspen.
“Yay, Rick!” she exclaims against my chest. “I promise it will be even better than the rotisserie chicken.”
Chapter sixteen
Rick
Meeting Aspen’s parents is the most nerve-inducing thing I’ve ever faced. I’m pretty much a wreck, and I don’t know if I’m doing much to hide it.
We flew first class back to Atlanta. It wasn’t my first experience with the upgraded service, but it was Aspen’s, and it was charming to see how excited she was. The entire time, she acted like everything was going to be okay, and it almost made me believe it would be. She told me all about her parents, and she shared memories of growing up. She talked non-stop the whole flight, which was fine. I wasn’t going to sleep, and somehow, her filling the time with all those memories made me feel a little bit more like this wasn’t a colossal mistake. It made me feel like I belonged—at least slightly—now that I was privy to her childhood and teenage years.
When we landed, we got a cab straight to Aspen’s parents’ house.
I expected something a little bit bigger, made of stone or maybe brick, so I was half surprised to find a smaller seventies-style split level. It’s yellow and cheerful. There are flowerbeds here, but they don’t bother me. Truthfully, I have no beef with gardens. I just hated the one my grandfather was so proud of. It was one-of-a-kind, and now it’s gone-of-a-kind, but the rest? They’re okay. They can remain, and they can be beautiful. It doesn’t make me angry or give me bad vibes.
The fence that surrounds most of the house is brown and peeling. It’s a little bit lopsided along the left, heading into the backyard. I’m shit at construction, but part of me wants to get at that fence and make it straight and proud again.
I could pay to have it done, but I’d rather learn how to do it myself.
“Are you going to throw up?” Aspen asks as we walk up the driveway.
There’s no sidewalk that cuts through the front door. It comes off the top of the asphalt driveway and winds to the front door. Now that I’m close, I can see the old siding is pretty weathered. The paint is cracked and ready to flake in spots. But it seems so normal. Somehow, this house radiates kindness.
“No,” I reply as I test the air. It’s sweet. Hot. Floral scented.
She looks at me with concern. “Are you sure? You look kind of pale.”
“I’m sure. I’ve had lots of training on how to not vomit or eject other bodily fluids in tense situations.”
Her eyes sweep over me. She’s a little bit tense, too, and I’m not kidding about what I just said, but she grins and grabs my hand like I’ve just made the funniest joke. She strokes my fingers, and I resist the urge to jerk them back and tuck them into my pockets so her dad doesn’t come out, see her fondling any part of me, and chop it off with a meat cleaver.
It would hurt so much more than a shotgun blast. Or any bullet, for that matter.
I’d get inventive if I were a father, and my little girl went across the country and did everything Aspen did. I’d make me pay, and I’d do it slowly and excruciatingly.
“You are going to throw up,” Aspen comments.
I’m just starting to register how hot it is out here. It’s astonishing that after a lifetime of blocking things out, I’m starting to be so very bad at becoming numb and impartial. I’m losing my masks, my armor, and my general impenetrability. I’m starting to feel the temperature, notice the weather, and take note of the sky and the world around me. I’m starting to smell flowers and appreciate good cooking. I even slept the past two nights with Aspen curled up beside me in the one bed left in the house. She waited for me to fall asleep, and she was awake when I woke up in the morning. It was like she was keeping guard just in case I woke up. In case I had a nightmare.
I sometimes wish I did. But I never have. I’ve never had a single nightmare or even a dream about anything I’ve done or anything that’s happened. I never relive the good or the bad. All I have are memories when I’m awake, and I became so good at shoving them down that, for the most part, I didn’t even have those.