Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 76713 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76713 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
My father had some very strong opinions on dairy-free alternatives.
They shouldn’t call it milk if it doesn’t come from a cow.
We’d had that argument more than a few times.
I’d countered about goat’s milk.
Then, to make him extra uncomfortable, breast milk.
Eventually, he dropped it.
So I didn’t have high hopes about what he’d dropped off.
But he’d gotten it all. Save for the hemp milk. And, honestly, very few people wanted that anyway. Those who did, would be willing to accept oat or almond for their drinks.
“Okay,” I said, reaching for my apron. “Time to get to work.”
And, I hoped, try to forget about August.
And that crushing sensation in my chest caused by his absence.
Baking, unfortunately, for me was something that had become so routine that it had long since become meditative, allowing my mind to wander.
The only thing keeping me halfway sane was Uncle Don catching me up on the lives of his kids and his wife, their latest vacations, their extracurriculars.
Then, like nothing at all had ever happened, I turned on the machines and the register, I brewed the coffee, I stocked the sweets cabinet, and then… I opened the doors.
The thing was, it felt different.
Years of running this store had made me accustomed to how it felt to go through my day. But every smile felt forced. My movements felt sluggish.
For the first time ever, my heart simply wasn’t in it.
I went through the motions, but somehow, it no longer felt like this was my purpose, my dream, what I wanted to do forever.
“What’s going on, kiddo?” Uncle Don asked when he caught me between lines of customers. “Is—“ he started. But then the door was opening and there was Uncle Stan.
Stan was the most like my father than the others, I guess. I never doubted that he was dirty, what with his expensive suits and cars, his fancy penthouse apartment. He was also my father’s gym buddy, the two of them keeping each other accountable fighting off that later-mid-life weight gain.
He was blond-haired, though it was mixed with some white these days, with green eyes, and a distinctly cleft chin.
In their pictures from their Academy days, it was clear that Stan was the ladykiller of the group, though all the others didn’t seem like they’d have trouble finding women, either.
“You’re late,” Uncle Chuck said, finally standing from the table he’d been occupying closest to the side of the counter. Presumably, so he could rush behind and pin me to the ground if something went down.
“I had some things to take care of,” he said, shrugging. No apologies. In his world, that was a sign of weakness.
It was no wonder he and my father got along so well.
“You can head out,” he said to Chuck. “I got it now,” he added, moving over toward Chuck’s table. “Traveler,” he said with a nod.
Never married with no kids, Stan had been the one of my uncles who interacted with me least. I’d heard him once telling my father that he didn’t know how to talk to me. Which had rubbed me the wrong way at the time since I’d been twelve and mature for my age. He could have talked to me like he would anyone else. He just… didn’t.
“Coffee?” I asked, waving toward the pots.
“Black,” he agreed, nodding. “You want one for the road?” I asked Chuck as he came up to the counter.
“I think I’ve had too much already. I’m gonna be buzzing all day. Thanks though. I’ll be seeing you tonight,” he added, giving me a smile, then moving out of the shop.
The lunch rush led to a lull where Stan and Don both scrolled and texted on their phones as I busied myself with cleaning and restocking.
It was when dinner came around that Don’s body language changed. He jumped up, body stiff, and rushed over toward Stan, where they talked in hushed whispers with serious faces.
Was it about my father?
Was he okay?
“No, you should go,” Stan said, voice firm.
“I promised James…” Don said, clearly conflicted as I relaxed a bit, figuring this had nothing to do with my father then.
“He’ll understand. Family has to come first,” he added.
And I wasn’t, by any of their estimation, family. As much as my father insisted that I call them all ‘uncle,’ and the fact that they had been around my entire life. I wasn’t blood. I was just an extension of my father that, because of their love of him, they had to care about.
“I hope everything is okay,” I said to Don when he turned to look at me, his gaze already a hundred miles away.
“I hope so too,” he agreed, rushing out the door. I watched his car peel away a moment later.
I turned a questioning glance toward Stan, but he was focused on his text again. Likely telling my father that Don had needed to bounce, and he was here alone with me.