Total pages in book: 30
Estimated words: 29018 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 145(@200wpm)___ 116(@250wpm)___ 97(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 29018 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 145(@200wpm)___ 116(@250wpm)___ 97(@300wpm)
Dad shakes his head in amusement. “I’m the Dad, sugar. I’m supposed to make the dad jokes.”
“Um…Moms can make corny jokes too!” I playfully pout causing both him and Tanya to snicker.
What! We can!
Once their laughter dies down, I smile sweetly at one of the most important men in my life. “Merry Christmas, Dad.”
“Thank you, sugar.” He bridges the gap to tenderly embrace me. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
Checking him off my list was a lot easier than my own kids. We’re still a bit stuck in that department. I sure hope Archer gets some additional answers out of them before my mom picks them up. I really really am not ready for a dog in our house.
Chapter 4
Archer
It’s impossible not to proudly grin over the praising email I’ve just finished reading.
Come on. Does anyone hate seeing their achievements laid out for them or how territories under their supervision are thriving? And not just expected levels of improvement. The section of the country that I oversee has 10% more sales on average than the others, 15% less customer complaints, and 17% less employment vacancies. Not bad for someone who started off as a dock boy, huh?
Vibrations from my personal cell unexpectedly begin, redirecting my attention away from the computer screen over to it. To my surprise, I’ve missed several texts, something that happens more often than I care to own up to when I’m in the “email zone”.
It’s that time of the day where I try not to lose my soul to the asinine amount of shit just waiting for my fucking reply. Don’t get me wrong. I really do enjoy my career. Corporate hasn’t always been easy on my marriage or my family; however, it has been the right type of challenging for me. I’ve even been able to transfer some of my survival skills into useful ones when it comes to data gathering, analysis, and employee morale. It’s a good fit. I’m just not always the best about balancing the shit. But I try. For Jaye, for our friends, for our family, I always fucking try. And I always fucking will.
The first text is from Dane asking if I think my wife will whip up some last-minute cookies for a surprise work potluck in exchange for a night of babysitting.
While the answer is most likely yes, I know better than to answer on her behalf. She’s a grown woman, and I’m nothing like the man that never got to marry her. I let her make up her own mind, which means texting him to text her instead of me.
Gideon’s text came in shortly after trying to verify which night we want basketball tickets for the family.
It took a while to get used to people other than Jaye calling me Archer, but between work and some of the people we began to socialize with – like Gideon – I got used to it. Nowadays, it’s a good mixture of both, and I honestly don’t mind it. Hm? Oh! Basketball! One of things Charles and I do together – without Jaye – is go catch a game. Sometimes we take Rainne with us because unlike her sister, she has an interest in sports. Or maybe it’s the cotton candy her Pop Pop never forgets to buy her. We’ll call the reason why TBD.
Jaye’s text is the newest, and the one that manages to break through the work fog I was in. Clicking it open reveals a screenshot photo of an elaborate dress up unit for kids as well as several outfits ordered with the question “From Santa?”.
I immediately reply that that’s a great idea, yet afterward, a sinking feeling appears in my stomach.
It is great.
It’s just not what they want.
Or asked for.
Repeatedly.
This past weekend when we were waiting for Maggie to come get them for their annual Christmas pictures, we read our school book club book and discussed what they wanted from Santa once more. Unfortunately for me, instead of getting additional options like light up sneakers or dragon action figures for their princesses to fight, they elaborated on what they wanted for Jedd courtesy of the holiday read. Popcorn. They want him to have popcorn too now. I know I shouldn’t be upset that my kids want to give other people things, it’s just…how the hell am I supposed to give some stranger I’ve never met a better life?
The realization that perhaps I should start by meeting the man my children are mildly obsessed with giving a great Christmas has me letting my assistant, Kelby Flores, know I’ll be out for the rest of the day and to forward me any important messages to my work phone.
One of the things I love most about working in the Cloud District is the fact it’s so close to our favorite bookstore. Over the years that I’ve been in higher positions, it’s allowed for me to meet my wife or wife and kids there for a few minutes on weekends where I knew I wasn’t going to get more than an extended lunch break. Due to how close my building is to Crack That, there’s no real need to drive or deal with the irritating downtown parking situation that only seems to get worse at the holidays. Bone-chilling wind mercilessly whirls around my dark coat covered frame, creeping itself up my black suit pants legs to attack the weakness it knows all too well.