Total pages in book: 51
Estimated words: 49490 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 247(@200wpm)___ 198(@250wpm)___ 165(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 49490 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 247(@200wpm)___ 198(@250wpm)___ 165(@300wpm)
Rob sweet-talked the hostess into a prime window seat with a glorious ocean view. We ordered immediately and thanked our waiter for the speedy arrival of our coffee. I sipped mine, unable to keep the grin from spreading across my face.
“What’s so funny?”
“Nothing, just…I feel like I’m playing hooky,” I admitted.
He waggled his brows. “Did you do that often?”
“Yeah, right,” I scoffed. “I couldn’t get away with anything like that. My teachers were Dad’s customers. The idea that one of them might come by for a slice of pizza after school and asked how I was feeling would have killed the fun.”
“You make it sound like your dad was a hard-ass. I remember him being very chill, super friendly.”
“Oh, he was. My dad was…a little bit of everything. He was funny and smart, but he was intense too, and like I’ve said before, he was old-fashioned. It was his way or the highway. That’s not a knock on him. That’s just…how things were in our family.”
“Do you ever think you’d want to be a parent?”
I wrinkled my nose. “Yeah, maybe. I think I’d be good at it.”
“I do too.”
“You do?” I cocked my chin. “What makes you say that?”
“You’re patient and—”
“I am not patient.” I snorted.
“You are. I’ve seen you deal with kids on sugar highs and cranky octogenarians like Mr. Smith. You know people. As far as I can remember, your dad was like that too.” He sipped his coffee and continued. “I used to get a slice every Tuesday for lunch at eleven thirty. I’d go early to avoid running into a crowd, and he’d save me a seat.”
“Really?”
Rob inclined his head. “My favorite spot was the corner table by the window. I’d leave a book or a hat or a jacket there to claim it while I ordered, but obviously that didn’t always work out. I wasn’t great at Plan Bs, so if I lost out, I’d get my pizza to go. Your dad noticed. He started leaving a ball cap on the table for me. The first time he did it, I figured it was a to-go day till your dad told me to sit down. He said, ‘I saved your seat.’ He didn’t make a big deal out of it. In fact, I don’t even think he made eye contact. He just pointed to the corner table and motioned for the guy behind me to step up to the counter.”
I grinned. “That sounds like Dad.”
“It sounds like you too.”
“We’ve got two pancake towers, eggs and bacon on the side! Can I get you some more coffee, gentlemen?”
We thanked the server, both asked for refills, then tucked into our breakfasts.
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d eaten pancakes and was about to say so, if just to move on from an uncomfortable topic. Instead, I blurted, “I miss him every day.”
Whoa. What the fuck?
Rob frowned. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
“No, it’s okay. I don’t know why I said that. It’s been a couple of years. It still hurts, but…I can talk about it without getting angry.”
“Angry? Why angry?”
I crunched into a piece of bacon and shrugged. “So many reasons. He was too young, I wasn’t ready to let go, I was pissed at being left to deal with more shit than I was capable of handling, I was worried about Ma, and on top of all that, I had this beef with Dad that he knew nothing about. And that right there is a boatload of TMI, but you asked for it. Don’t feel too special, though. I’ve been feeding this shit to my therapist for years.”
Rob sighed, shaking his head in mild censure. “You’re the prickliest asshole I’ve ever met, and I’ve met quite a few.”
“Thanks.”
“Since I shouldn’t feel special about your candor, do you mind if I ask if your beef was about coming out?”
“It was one of the things I struggled with…yeah. I’m an only child…only son. That right there is a lot of pressure. I was expected to be my father’s mini me—uphold the family name and maybe, do something more. Dad used to talk about expanding the business. He and Uncle Sal had their eye on the candy store and—”
“So that’s why you hated me!”
“I did not hate you,” I huffed. “I was rightfully pissed about your pizza bagels.”
“Sure.” Rob trailed a forkful of pancakes and eggs through his syrup.
“And maybe I was a little disappointed. It was one more thing I didn’t pull off.”
“What do you mean?”
I glanced briefly out the window. “I wanted what you had. I wanted to play football, make a lot of money, come home and help expand the family business. For my dad. But football…”
“Didn’t work out for you,” he finished.
The sentence hung between us like a bubble I could pop and forget. He knew the answer, but he wouldn’t pester me for details I didn’t want to share. I’d learned that much about Rob. But if he could share bleak episodes, I should be able to do the same.