Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 74956 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 375(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74956 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 375(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
“Sounds good,” Stone says. “Thank you! Love you.”
“Love you, too,” I say, the words still new enough that they make me goofy grin in the elevator.
It’s sappy.
Even sappier? A part of me suspects that hearing him tell me that he loves me is never going to get old. Not even when we are. I actually think about growing old with him, a thing that’s never crossed my mind before, but with Tyler, it feels right.
Outside, it’s a crisp, clear morning in downtown Portland, and I actually find myself grateful for the chance to take a walk before jumping straight into my car. I’ve been so busy taking care of Stone, I haven’t had time to get out and enjoy the last fading gasp of autumn.
I indulge in an amble, at first, but at the end of the block, I speed my pace, hopefully making it clear that I’m in a hurry if Roger spots me out and about. Roger, a member of the local homeless community, talks my ear off every chance he gets. I usually don’t mind—he’s a smart and interesting guy—but I don’t have time to visit this morning. Thankfully, it looks like he’s still asleep in his doorway of choice.
Portland’s homelessness situation is depressingly widespread, but Roger refuses to go to a shelter or to one of the motels Stone offered to pay for until he gets back on his feet. Roger likes his freedom and hates capitalism too much to have any interest in “getting back on his feet” in a world like this one.
The evil of capitalism is his hyper-fixation of choice, and he’s a damned convincing speaker on the topic. By the third time he lectured me about how the exploitation of vulnerable people is baked inexorably into the system, like the world’s most violent and racist Ponzi scheme, I was sold. Apparently, our economic model is so deeply broken, there’s probably no hope of fixing it. The only real answer is to tear it all down and start fresh with something new.
But starting fresh is a lot harder than it sounds.
Human beings cling to our systems, our habits, so fearful of change, we have to be dragged out of our unproductive ruts, kicking and screaming. Sure, the ruts are often muddy and cold and smell like rotten garbage, but they’re familiar, dammit, and we like familiar.
And ruts aren’t always so bad…
The rut I was in with my dad made me feel stuck and unseen, but at least I had a father. Now, if we can’t find a way to evolve, I might as well be an orphan.
Though I imagine having a dad who is alive and well, but uninterested in a relationship, would be much worse than one who’s dead. After all, I’m never mad or upset with my mother. I know she would have given anything to be here for me. She just can’t be.
Cancer made that choice for her.
For all of us.
It hits me all of a sudden how sad it would make her…to know that Dad and I are struggling like this. She wouldn’t want us to give up on each other, not ever.
The thought is barely through my head when I push through The Grainhouse’s front door to see none other than my father sitting at a table by the window.
Across from him is Grammercy, who takes one look at my face and surges to his feet, nearly knocking his chair over in his haste to escape whatever emotional tsunami is about to hit.
“Sorry about the ambush,” he blurts out, already maneuvering around me and reaching for the door. “Stone made me do it. Well, he didn’t make me, exactly, but I owed him for saving my ass at the game, so I couldn’t very well say no.” His gaze darts between Dad and me. “Don’t be pissed, Coach. From what I heard, it sounds like this is for you own—”
“You’re excused, Grammercy,” my father cuts in, his voice as calm and cool as ever.
Only someone who knows him well would be able to see the hint of worry in his gray eyes or the tension in his jaw.
But I do know him well, and I’d bet my annual bonus he’s as surprised to see me as I am to see him.
“Right. Thanks, Coach. Bye, Remy,” Grammercy says.
He’s through the door and out onto the sidewalk before I can reply.
Pulling in a deeper breath, I turn back to face my father. For a beat, neither of us says a word, the tension building as I hover awkwardly by the door. I’m about to say that we can talk later, in private, if that’s better, when he motions to the empty chair across from him.
“Would you like to join me?” he asks, a hint of uncertainty in his tone.
“Sure,” I say, uncertainty in mine, too. “If you want me to.”