Total pages in book: 146
Estimated words: 137077 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 685(@200wpm)___ 548(@250wpm)___ 457(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 137077 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 685(@200wpm)___ 548(@250wpm)___ 457(@300wpm)
She purses her lips, not saying anything, but I can read her like a book now too, and she doesn’t like that any more than the rest of us do. Dad hasn’t always been a workaholic the way he is now, but it’s been so long since he had work-life balance that I don’t think he’d know what it was if it bit him in the ass. I’m not exactly one to call that particular pot-kettle black, but I have historically had at least some sense of balance for Grace’s sake. Dad is of no such compunction, especially after all us kids grew up, though he still meddles in all of our lives in some ways.
Everyone’s talking all at once and I try to tune in and listen, mostly out of habit. Carter is telling Grandad about a new stock venture he’s playing with. Chance and Samantha are excitedly reporting their podcast’s statistics to Mom and Grandmom. And Cole is waxing poetic about Emmett’s latest trick to Dani and Kyle. Well, for Cole, it’s poetic. For most people, it’d be more like a clipped news brief of Emmett’s improving ability to sit for longer periods of time, but given that Cole barely spoke to any of us and used to do a vanishing act after thirty minutes of family time, it’s great progress on both his and Emmett’s part, both mainly thanks to Janey.
Everyone’s engaged and talkative. Except Kayla, I realize. She’s sitting back, watching us all. Probably thinking ‘dance, monkeys, dance’ because in some ways, she’s more of a beast than any of my brothers. Her packaging is just prettier. I catch her eye and lift my brows, questioning whether she’s okay. She returns the move, arching one wry brow like, ‘Of course, why wouldn’t I be?’ and I wisely decide that’s a bomb I don’t want to touch right now.
“Miranda,” Ira says from the doorway, and Mom nods.
I lean down to explain to Riley, “That’s Ira, our house manager. Don’t let his age or sweet demeanor fool you. He knows everything about everyone and isn’t afraid to use the information for good or evil, depending on his mood.”
“Knows where the bodies are buried,” she suggests with a grin. “I like him already.”
“You’re probably not wrong,” I answer, waiting as she stands, following suit with Mom’s lead as we head toward the dining room.
I was right. Mom sends us all to the table, while she disappears upstairs to round Dad up. Samantha is my favorite person for the moment when she asks Grace to sit next to her so that Riley and I can sit together. My daughter certainly doesn’t mind because Samantha is one of her, as she used to call her, ‘most favoritest people on the whole entire Earth’.
With Grace several feet away at the long cherrywood table, I bump Riley’s knee under the table and send her a sly smirk. We still can’t be too obvious, but there’s much less scrutiny now. She cuts her eyes my way and grins. It’s such a small thing, but it feels so naughty.
Until I look across from me and find Cole staring at me in warning. He knows me. Just as importantly, he knows Riley. And while he’s happy for me, he responded to me privately after the sibling group text, telling me I’d better not fuck up his and Janey’s chance at some sense of normalcy because there is approximately zero-point-zero percent that either of them would leave Emmett with anyone other than Riley. At this point, I think he’d kill me if it meant he got keep Riley.
I frown, Riley is so much more than his babysitter. She’s my… Riley.
Mom and Dad soon make their joint appearance, with Dad declaring, “Thank you for waiting. Sorry about that.” It’s a blanket apology he’s made before, and while I’d love to say he’ll eventually change, he won’t. The best we can hope for is that while he’s at the table, he’ll be solidly with us, and most likely, he will be. He is good about that, at least. As he settles into his seat at the head of the table, he looks up and down each side, stopping abruptly when he sees Riley.
I knew this was coming.
“Dad, this is Riley Stefano. Riley, this is my dad, Charles Harrington.”
“Oh, that’s right. Miranda told me you were coming. You’re Grace’s nanny, right?” He glances at Mom, who has a fake smile plastered on her lips but is silently screaming at him with her eyes. Mom understands nuances and subtleties Dad never could, nor would want to.
“Yes, I am,” Riley answers politely.
As Dad unfolds his napkin and places it in his lap, he asks, “Your family not close enough to go home for Thanksgiving?” It’d be an innocuous question under normal circumstances, but given Riley’s history, it’s most definitely not.