Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 76203 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 381(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76203 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 381(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
“No, they fit,” she said, drawing something on the countertop with her fingertip.
“Hey,” I said, reaching across the counter to close my hand over hers, giving it a squeeze. “You can talk to me, remember?” I said, watching her gaze slip up, then back down.
“I just… I want more… girly clothes,” she said, voice tiny.
It didn’t matter that some part of me had wanted this day to come for fourteen years. It wasn’t joy that filled me right then.
“What’s his name?” I asked.
The way her gaze darted up, her big brown eyes wide, told me I’d hit the nail right on the head.
“Lance,” she admitted.
“And, let me guess, Lance likes the girls in the dresses with the makeup and long, shiny hair?” I said.
“Yeah,” she said, lower lip a little wobbly.
“I know you think I’m old and lame and out of touch,” I said, having heard each of the kids say something of that variation at least once or twice over the years. Until their father overheard that, and they got a long talking to. “But can I say something I learned about boys and dating?”
“Okay,” she said.
“There is not a single man on the face of this Earth who is worth you changing who you are just to get their attention. Not one,” I added with more emphasis. “There will be a guy who will see you for exactly who you are, and fall madly in love with you.”
“Easy for you to say,” she grumbled.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You like makeup and dresses and have long, shiny hair. And like all that girly crap.”
We’d given up on telling the kids that they needed to wait to curse until they were out of our house. Not when they were surrounded by club members who had mouths that would make sailors blush.
“Okay. That’s true,” I agreed. It was useless to pretend I wasn’t the definition of ‘girly.’ “Here’s the thing though… it’s all relative. So when I first met your father, I was sure he would never want to be with someone like me. Because I was so… I don’t know what you kids are calling it these days, but back then, they used to call girls like me ‘basic.’”
“Basic?” she repeated.
“Yeah. Like… I liked all the things that girls were supposed to like. Dressing up, looking pretty, pink stuff, pumpkin spice lattes. They’d call girls like me ‘basic bitches,’ because there was nothing ‘unique’ about us. And back then, I would watch the guys of the club end up with all these badass women who were strong and talented. And I just… wasn’t. So I never thought he would want me.
“The point is, I was wrong. He did want me. More than any of those other badass girls he was ‘supposed’ to want. The right guy will want you for you. Not for some facade you put on to try to please them.”
“I guess,” she said.
“The thing about changing for a guy is… they can also… change their mind. And then what? You don’t know who you are anymore because you twisted and squished yourself into the mold of the woman he wanted? That doesn’t seem worth it to me.”
She’d never admit it. Because, well, teenagers. But I could tell I was getting to her.
“I’m not going to tell you what to do, or refuse to take you shopping if you do decide this is actually something you want to do for yourself, not him. But I’m just asking you to give it a little thought first.”
“Okay,” she agreed, back to tracing over the countertop with her finger. “I’m gonna go do my homework,” she said, getting up, and heading toward her room.
It was only when she left that I noticed Detroit leaning in the doorway, eyes soft.
“I know it was hard not to jump for joy at the idea of shopping for girly shit with her,” he said, coming closer, and wrapping his arms around my lower back. “But you handled that well. And you’re right about everything.”
“Could you do me a favor and tell the kids that? They keep forgetting,” I said, leaning into his familiar strength.
“I do. Constantly,” he said, pressing a kiss to the top of my head.
“You know what!” our girl said, storming back into the room, making us break apart like we’d been doing something untoward. “You’re right. Fuck him!” she said, making my eyes go big. “I’m great the way I am,” she added. “He’s missing out if he doesn’t see that.”
With that, she stormed back through the house with her renewed sense of self.
“I know I should probably scold her for dropping F-bombs at her age,” I said, nodding at the closed door. “But I’m kind of too proud of her little speech to do it.”
“Hey, if we lose the swearing battle but win the self-esteem war, I think we did a good job as parents,” he said. “Looks like we have the house to ourselves for a while,” he said, shooting me a smirk. “You know what I’m thinking?”