Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 82186 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82186 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
She nodded and reached across the table for my hand. “I think sometimes you believe you’re not the right person for this job.”
Every now and then that was true. I thought that Hannah needed a mother, a woman, a female presence in her life to aid her in crisis situations. When she had her first period, I had Aja there backing me up if there was anything Hannah needed. And even though sex was something Hannah understood the mechanics of, what needed to be done, I still had both Aja and Dylan come over and talk to her before they went up to the cabin.
“I just want you to know that someday, a long time from now, when I have my baby…you’re the one who will have to be there holding my hand. You’re the one who will have to come stay with me for weeks, and you’re the one who will have to show me all about babies.”
I cleared my throat softly. “And that will be my privilege, love, but if your partner’s mother wants to help you too, then––”
“Any baby that I push out… I want you,” she stated flatly. “The end.”
I nodded. “Okay.”
“Yes?”
“Yes,” I agreed and pinky swore when she lifted her finger for me.
Outside, she announced that we had to go to a vintage store downtown because they were supposed to have a lot of midcentury glass ornaments.
Driving and talking were two of my favorite things to do, and time flew because I was with my daughter, who is one of my favorite people in the world.
The store, near the loop, was more of a warehouse than a shop. Warehouse was also a very loose term.
“Wow,” I said, glancing around at the high ceilings and was very glad I had my parka on. It was like a refrigerator set on arctic. It was colder inside that it was outside.
“Eighty thousand square feet of just stuff,” Hannah told me, grinning.
“Oh dear God,” I groaned, realizing too late that I’d driven us to hell.
“Hi, Frank,” she greeted a very harried-looking man, who was probably bald because this was where he worked. “I called this morning about the glass ornaments. You think they’re out by fur or more toward Golden Age Hollywood?”
“I wanna say Hollywood is the safer bet. I think Leon dumped ’em by Ava Gardner.”
“Okay, perfect,” she told him.
“You ever need a job, kid, my offer still stands.”
“Thank you, Frank,” she said, beaming at him.
“This your kid?” he asked me.
“Yessir, she is.”
“Great kid,” he told me. “Gets the fact that vintage ain’t perfect.”
I nodded.
“Hey, make sure your father signs a waiver.”
“I will,” she replied, smiling cheerfully.
I did a slow pan to my child. “I’m sorry, what?”
Taking hold of my arm, she walked me over to the line in front of two people who were sitting in—as God is my witness—what looked like a giant kennel. Like hardened chain link. In front of the woman was a computer. In front of the man sitting to her right was a wooden stamp and a red pad.
The woman passed Hannah a tablet, Hannah typed in my first and last name, initialed a lot of places, and then passed it to me to sign with my finger.
“No,” I said.
“You gotta,” she insisted.
I did a slow pan to her, because the waiver was basically a release-of-liability form. If you cut yourself on something, if something got dropped on you, if you tripped and fell off something high, if someone accidentally shoved you…you couldn’t sue. You were honestly taking your life in your hands if you shopped there.
“Hannah,” I snapped at her even as I signed the form, “we should probably go home.”
She made a face that told me that idea was off the table, passed the tablet back, and then turned me as a flash nearly blinded me.
“Jesus,” I groaned, blinking.
“I have a waiver on file,” Hannah told the woman of indeterminate age. Between the heavy makeup, the dyed-crimson hair and the three—four—different animal prints she was wearing; she could have been anywhere from thirty to sixty. “Kage with a K.”
“Wow,” the woman said with a voice that had to be the product of three to four packs of cigarettes a day. “You’ve been coming here a long time, kid. Your form is back from when they had to scan all those in.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Hannah assured her. “I was here during the knifing of twenty eighteen.”
“No shit?” The woman was impressed. “Tell me it wasn’t really over stilettos.”
“They were vintage Christian Louboutin stilettos,” Hannah replied solemnly.
“Oh well, that makes sense, then.”
What?
As my daughter’s picture was pulled up, I realized that she couldn’t have been more than thirteen. Her smile was huge, and her eyes were closed just like mine, so I was guessing they were using the same flash.
“How did you sign a legal document at thirteen?” I asked her.