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 smiles hesitantly as she reaches the bottom of the stairs, and I realize I’ve stared gobsmacked for too long, and she thinks there’s something wrong. I rush to say, “You are stunning, Riley.”
I truly mean it. I can’t believe I once thought her fashion choices were too much or odd because now, they seem perfectly… Riley, and I can’t imagine her any other way. It’d be too quiet without her musically jangling bracelets, natural hair colors seem so bland and boring, and something off-the-rack would be too expected. She’s loud, exciting, and completely unpredictable… and I love that.
Shit. No, that’s not what I meant. I like that. That’s all.
“Oh,” she stammers, clearly relieved. “Thank you.” Her eyes light up, showing how pleased she is by the simple compliment, and I feel like even more of a jerk for treating her so poorly all week.
“I’m sorry—” I start to say, but Grace appears at the top of the stairs, drawing both our attention. My apologies will have to wait.
“Wow, honey! You look beautiful,” I tell my daughter.
Her blue dress reminds me of a Disney princess, with a corset-inspired bodice and skirt that puffs out in a ballgown sort of way but only reaches her knees. I can see the hints of Riley’s handiwork in the oversized ribboned bows added to the straps, and as she comes down the stairs, she’s stepping carefully in her low heels, which are silver, also leaning into the Cinderella vibe.
“Riley helped me with the bows! Do you like them?” Grace fingers the velvet ribbon at her shoulder as she looks from me to Riley.
“I do. They’re the perfect touch.”
The corners of my eyes start to burn with the threat of tears, though I’m not entirely sure why. Maybe because choosing a dress and getting ready for a dance is something Grace should’ve done with Michelle? But Grace doesn’t seem the slightest bit sad that she’s missed that moment with her mother amid the countless other ones she’s had to share with only me, and now this one, she shared with Riley.
“You two look like a bride and groom,” Grace says, laughing as she points at us.
Holding my hands out, I look down and realize that in my black slacks, black dress shirt, and black shoes, and Riley in her ivory satin dress, Grace is right. The idea is jarring, but my daughter gives me no time to process it, suddenly saying, “Let’s go!” before jumping and clumsily attempting to run for the garage. She stops after only a few steps, though, her ankles wobbling in the heels she’s not used to wearing. “Whoa. Walking it is,” she says, holding her arms out to the sides to help balance against her ungraceful stumbling.
I look at Riley, who looks shell-shocked herself at Grace’s comparison of us to cake toppers, and hold out a hand, gesturing for her to go first. Gentlemanly? No. Apparently, I’m a masochist now because it’s specifically so I can watch her walk in front of me, her ass swinging left and right, as I imagine something completely different than our merely going to a school dance as chaperones.
Instead, as I help Riley slip into her coat, I’m picturing us… together.
“What the hell is this crap?” I hiss under my breath.
Since she’s standing right next to me, Riley hears, even with the too-loud music. “Sabrina Carpenter,” she informs me with a smirk. “Please, Please, Please. Look, there’s a routine.”
She points to a group of middle school girls who are all doing the same moves, but what I see are the herd of boys who’re watching closely. Too closely. Involuntarily, my feet start to step their way. I’m thinking they need some encouragement to get some punch or something, anything that stops them from leering at their classmates. But Riley lays a hand on my arm, stopping me.
“They’re fine.”
I disagree, but I grit my teeth, staying put. At least here, I get to stand with Riley. I’m not sure I’d want to leave her alone, anyway, given the way the other parents and school staff have been eyeing her… and me. I’m not stupid. I know gossip has already begun working through the adults in attendance tonight. Riley doesn’t look like the typical nanny and I’m definitely not the typical single parent, so put us together, and we’re fodder for the rumor mill. Riley seems oblivious to it, though, or if she has noticed the uptick in whispered conversations since she placed her hand on my arm, quite obviously bossing me around, she doesn’t give a fuck about it.
I wish I could say the same.
“Chaperones are supposed to keep the kids from doing anything stupid,” I inform her testily. It’s not exactly what the email listing out the expectations said, but it’s pretty close.
“They’re not doing anything stupid,” she counters. “They’re dancing and having a good time.”