Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 82579 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 413(@200wpm)___ 330(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82579 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 413(@200wpm)___ 330(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
Gia: That looks incredible!! Holy crap!!!!
Sophie: Not at all jealous and mad that I wasn’t invited.
Gia: Get over it Soph!!!!
Frannie: Cool view.
Sophie: And here’s Franny Panties texting like a boomer again.
Frannie: It’s a cool view, I refuse to apologize.
Carmie: I really hate none of you were there tbh, but I didn’t have much say in the matter.
Gia: How’s the gorgeous husband doing anyway? You two hump until your parts got rugburn?
Frannie: Disgusting.
Frannie: But did you?
Carmie: We slept in separate rooms.
Sophie: Disappointment of the centuryyyyyy.
Carmie: Now I’m packing up my room and having a minor existential crisis.
Carmie: What am I supposed to do now? I’m married to a total stranger and I’m supposed to somehow cohabitate with him?
Gia: I’m so sorry but you’re doing good.
Gia: You’ll get through it.
Sophie: You definitely will!
Frannie: Or we’ll kill him for you. Slowly.
Gia: FRANNIE!
Sophie: Don’t put that in writing!!!
Frannie: What? We will!
I toss my phone aside and hold up my old fencing uniform. Half my old gear is scattered across the floor. I balance my foil and kick my mask with my toe. I haven’t worn it in a while—Dad stopped letting me go to fencing lessons and forget about joining a club or something like that—but I know I could squeeze into it if I wanted.
But what’s the point? The girls think I’ll survive and move on, but what else are they supposed to say? I haven’t told them about the baby yet; otherwise, I have a feeling they’d be storming over here to make sure I’m still hanging on.
And I have no clue if I am.
There’s a knock at my door. It cracks open and I look up, expecting to see Luca, but instead, Dad lingers there, frowning in at the mess.
He looks tired today. Bags hang under his eyes. The skin around his mouth is loose and wrinkled, and his hair is going gray. He used to be big and trim, but there’s a tire around his middle these days, and he doesn’t seem motivated to do anything about it.
My father’s getting older.
But the edge hasn’t gone away. His mouth is pressed into a hard line. I know what he’s thinking. “I’ll clean it up, don’t worry.”
He grunts in reply. “You left the wedding early.”
“Lev took me home. Were you aware of that?”
“I was told it might happen.” His frown deepens. “And this is you packing?”
“Like I said, I’ll clean it up.”
He stares at me. I halfway expect him to say something. I’m his only daughter, and I’m going to live with a total stranger starting today. I’ve been in this house my entire life. He’s been more or less running the show since the day I was born, and now he won’t have much of a say in what I do anymore.
He’s got to feel something about that.
“Just don’t leave a mess.” He glances away, hesitating. “I want you to be respectful, Carmie. I know how you can be sometimes.”
Outrage flashes through me. How I can be? I’ve been nothing but obedient, and this man has the nerve to act like I’m some kind of embarrassment. Frustration rolls through me, and I wish he’d do better. I wish he’d have some kind of sentimental moment with me over this enormous change in both our lives, but that’s asking too much of him.
I know that, but I still wish he could do better.
“I’ll be fine, Dad. Don’t worry.”
“I’m not worried for you, daughter. I’m worried for our family name. Be respectful and don’t get in trouble.” He turns his back on me. “And clean up this mess before you go.”
I watch my father disappear down the hall before I slam the door shut. I know that’ll only make him feel justified for giving me that weird little lecture, but screw him.
I feel lost and weirdly abandoned. It’s not like I really thought my dad would step up and give me the emotional moment I’m craving, but still. Something would’ve been nice.
Some kindness to make it clear he understands that his only daughter is moving out.
In a fit of stupidity, I shove all my old fencing gear into one of my bags. I didn’t plan on bringing this stuff since it’s basically useless, and I can’t imagine controlling-Lev will ever let his precious little baby oven out of his sight long enough to exercise, but whatever. I miss fencing. I miss the girl I was on the fencing strip.
When my gear was on and with a competitor staring me down, the world disappeared. It was just me against my opponent. Footwork, reflex training, strategy, and tactics, I let it all take over, and I was good. I was really good, and I loved winning more than anything in the world.
An old dream though. A long dead one. I’m past my prime already, but it doesn’t matter. Maybe I’ll find a use for that stuff, or maybe it’ll just take up room in my closet forever.