Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 119852 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 599(@200wpm)___ 479(@250wpm)___ 400(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119852 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 599(@200wpm)___ 479(@250wpm)___ 400(@300wpm)
“Yeah, that lady doth protesteth waaaay too much,” Kyle says, drawing out the ‘way’ a ridiculously long time.
“Lady? What lady? All I see is a badass bitch. Now, go.” Cameron shoos me out the door and right into Mr. Rodriguez.
I could stop. The meeting will be short, and I should take the time to do it before going to see my parents. But I glance back over my shoulder, seeing Cameron’s look of reassurance. He’s got me. He’s got this handled.
“Cameron’s going to meet with you, Mr. Rodriguez. Thank you for coming,” I tell him, already walking past him.
And on my way to the most awkward and uncomfortable conversation I think I’m ever going to have with my parents.
Heeey, Mom and Dad, so… about that happily ever after you hoped I’d get? What if it’s a bit extra happy? Like twice as happy?
KAYLA
To a lot of people, the Harrington estate is a huge monstrosity of the outskirts of town, but to me, it’s simply home. With all the memories associated with that, both good and bad.
Today is likely to be one of the worst memories.
I walk in the front door without knocking, calling out, “Hello? Mom? Dad?”
Our house manager, Ira, appears, poking his head out from the kitchen where he’s probably having a mid-morning snack. “Kayla? Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.” He beams, welcoming me into his arms for a hug. He is someone I always hug. Actually, he might be the only person I always hug. “It’s good to see you.”
Ira has been our house manager since I was a child. I don’t remember a time when he wasn’t here, fixing things or taking us on horseback rides. He was a de facto third parent in a lot of ways, the one I could count on when Dad was traveling and Mom was busy. Not that he was always on their side. He also helped us sneak out, and sneak back in, and always knew where we were just in case of emergency.
“It’s good to see you too,” I tell him, meaning it.
But he can see the shadows in my eyes and peers at me worriedly. “Your father is in his office and your mom is in her art room. Shall I gather them? Have them meet you in the living room?”
He’s a smart man, suggesting the most neutral of grounds inside my parents’ home. Dad’s office puts him at the obvious advantage. Mom’s art room, while not advantageous, isn’t conducive for conversations, with no chairs and art books stacked precariously on every surface. “Please. And thank you.”
He goes to get them and I make my way to the formal living room. Not the family room where we had game nights as children and exchange presents at Christmastime to this day, but the room where we host parties. A more public space in the house, neutral and on our Ps and Qs. Selecting it is intentional, an attempt to keep Mom and Dad on their best behavior.
“Kayla, honey!” Mom cries out happily as she comes into the room, her arms already open to greet me. I lean into her hug politely. We are close, best friends in many ways, but I’m not affectionate with her the way I am with Ira.
“You’re a pleasant surprise,” Dad says, not even coming close enough for a handshake, much less a hug, before sitting down in one of the leather side chairs.
Their reactions alone tell me that they don’t know yet. That’s good. It means that the narrative is mine to write.
“Sorry for barging in unannounced—”
“Kayla,” Mom scolds, “you are welcome anytime and always. No call needed.” She smiles warmly, guiding me to the couch before sitting down beside me.
She really is a great mother. She was there for every single parent-teacher night, drove me to countless piano lessons, dance recitals, and debate club tournaments. But she didn’t only parent with calendars and meetings. She talked with us, listening to our worries and fears and cheering us on even when we didn’t deserve it. I mean, let’s face it, my aptitude for the piano was downright nonexistent, yet Mom made it seem like I could be the next Mozart if I put my heart into it.
I think she was always trying to strike a balance with Dad’s absences and stoic tendencies. When my older brothers were young, he was engaged, doctoring boo-boos and going to basketball practices, but as Blue Lake grew, he traveled more often than not, and as one of the younger siblings, I got the workaholic version of Dad more than anything. He tried, I truly think he did, but there is a clear spectrum in his relationships with all my brothers, and there have been years with all of them where his relationship was more strained than he wished it was.