Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 111414 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 557(@200wpm)___ 446(@250wpm)___ 371(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111414 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 557(@200wpm)___ 446(@250wpm)___ 371(@300wpm)
I blink, not backing down. “And if Tuesday morning is as soon as possible for our project lead to be in that meeting, then so be it.”
Spencer steps between us and says quickly, “I’ll be there Monday. There’s already a team meeting on the calendar to go over the festival, as well as social media analytics. So no need to argue over useless hypotheticals right now. Save it for your next family dinner.”
With that, Spencer spins on her heel and stomps off. Kyleigh follows her, and Toni and Jazmyn disappear to find Steve.
“Dayum, that bitch has sass. She ain’t putting up with none of your shit. I like her.” Taya clacks her nails together, catching Dad’s attention.
He frowns snootily. “And you are?”
I wonder what Dad thinks when he sees Taya. She’s dressed outrageously, speaks her mind without filter, and could probably buy and sell the entirety of Americana Land with a single phone call. But I bet he would never consider that, given the way he’s looking down on her.
Jayme grabs Taya’s arm. “Just leaving,” Jayme tells Dad. As she pulls Taya away, she gives me a meaningful look. Talk to him.
Somehow, despite being backstage, it’s suddenly just the two of us. The entire crew flows around us like we’re in a bubble, doing teardown assignments without even pausing to consider our presence. We might as well be completely alone with the uncomfortable awkwardness stretching between Dad and me.
“Today was great,” Dad declares formally.
I clench my jaw, waiting for the bomb, but nothing comes. After a moment, I grow restless. “But?”
He sighs heavily, taking his already-clean glasses off to wipe at them mindlessly with a handkerchief. It’s a nervous habit when he’s thinking of what to say. “But nothing. It was a compliment,” he says. Shoving his glasses back on, he adds, “I don’t know what to say to you, Carson. It’s always wrong, no matter what I do.”
I remember what Jayme said, that he doesn’t know how to communicate, but that doesn’t have to be it for us. I can show him the landmines, even if it means drawing him a map with Xs to mark each and every one. And if he still steps on one, then I can blame him. But now? Maybe he’s just ill-prepared.
“You could’ve said ‘good job’ when you walked up. That would’ve been enough. But you called me out in front of my staff, undermining my authority when I was offering a well-earned reward to a project lead.” Every word is stiff and forced, and I mostly want to walk away before he has a chance to respond because putting it out there so plainly makes me feel vulnerable in a way that irritates the hell out of me.
He looks as though I punched him square in the nose. “What? That’s not what I was doing!” he shakes his head in confusion. “Not what I meant to do. I wanted to have the post-project review because this was amazing! I think the numbers are going to be through the roof.”
I stare at him in shock. Never in a million years would I have taken his comment about Spencer not taking Monday off as excitement over a successful project. “What?”
He stares back at me and echoes, “What?”
Shit. I think Jayme was right. Dad’s not perfect, but neither am I. And maybe he’s not the full-blown asshole I’ve thought he was. Or at least not this time.
He’s just flawed, like we all are.
I swallow my pride, as difficult as it may be. “Thank you. I’ll get with the rest of the team on Monday morning, and then maybe we can meet in the afternoon to go over figures?” This is not about a meeting. This is an olive branch and a big step for us. “But Spencer and Kyleigh do deserve a day off.”
“I’d like that very much,” he says thickly. “And you’re right.”
I offer a hand, which he shakes solidly. “Good job today, Son.”
Maybe we can both learn if given the chance.
CHAPTER 21
JAYME
I’m still in bed, drooling on my pillow, when my phone rings. I think I’m still dreaming about the cotton candy slushie I had yesterday, but maybe dreaming on a mega sugar overload isn’t a great plan because the noise startles the hell out of me.
“Wut?” I mutter to my empty room, wiping at my chin.
I shake my head, working the cobwebs loose, and look around for an intruder. Or a giant cotton candy fluff that’s going to consume me like the mist in Stephen King’s story and melt me into nothingness the way my cotton candy dissolved yesterday.
I find neither. Only my ringing phone.
“Hullo,” I groan into it.
“Jayme? Honey? Are you okay? Do I need to call an ambulance? Are you having a stroke?”
“Huh? No, Mom. Um oh-kay.”
I can almost hear her judgment. “You don’t sound okay. Should I at least call Javier downstairs?”