Lucky Daddy
Page 26
I put my hair up in a messy bun and wash my face. The madness in my life is definitely taking its toll on me. I want to be done being exhausted when I come home. Between work, school, and environmental advocacy, I barely get five hours a night. It’s why I’m always running late. That five minutes of shut-eye makes a difference, at least for me.
There are days where I feel so run down, I don't know if I can do it anymore. It's hard. It's so hard, but I know one day it will be worth it when I'm saving all the trees and supporting my family, so Dad doesn’t have to work construction anymore. Yeah, that’s caused a few disruptions around the dinner table. He has a tree hugger for a daughter, and he builds on land that was once ripe with trees. As much as I don’t like it, he’s supported me, my mom, and my brothers by working that back-breaking job for practically my whole life. After I graduate college I’ll go to law school, and when I’m a lawyer protecting the environment, I’ll make sure he doesn't have to do that anymore.
“You’re officially late!” Charlie calls from the other side of the door.
I have a toothbrush in my mouth, toothpaste dripping down my chin when I groan. "I'm coming!"
“What?” Charlie yells.
I spit. “I said I’m coming!” Gosh, she can be such a mother.
I reach for the hand towel, but it’s not there. I look on the tiled floor, but there are too many clothes covering it. "Forget it," I mutter, ripping off a few sheets of toilet paper. I wipe my face, throw the tissue in the trashcan, and open the door to see Charlie still spooning cereal into her mouth.
“How much of that are you going to eat?” I ask.
“Until I’m full, duh.”
She steps out of the way as I walk towards my dresser, opening the drawers to grab my retro work uniform. The diner I work at is old school. It has the old fashion booths, jukebox, and retro lights. Every time I go to work, I feel like I travel back in time. My uniform is a long dress to my ankles that flares out at the hips. It is white, with red stripes down the entire body, and a bit form-fitting for my liking. I also have to wear Keds, the white shoes that have no support because it looks more authentic. A few months ago, I had to slide some Dr. Scholl's inside them, so my back wouldn’t scream at me when I got home.
“Can you get that top button?” I spin, giving her my back. I can zip the entire thing, but that damn button on the top gets me every time.
The sound of her bowl clanks against the counter, and a few seconds later, her cold fingers touch my skin, making me jump.
“All set,” she says, picking her bowl back up.
I hear the slight crunch of Cheerios again, and it reminds me that I don't have time to eat breakfast. I'll be working until lunch on an empty stomach. I am so tired of this. I want to quit so bad, I could cry. I want to scream from the stress and the exhaustion. Finding time to study, trying to afford to pay bills—it's too much.
"Hey." Charlie pulls me into a hug when she notices me tearing up. "It's temporary, Whit. Remember that. All this hard work is going to pay off. It might not be tomorrow or the next day, but it will. You're doing so great. I see it, and Tops sees it. That's why he doesn't care if you’re late. You are doing the best you can."
My bottom lip trembles as I try to hold back my tears. “I don’t know how much longer I can do it, Charlie,” I wipe my eyes. “I’m so tired all the time. I can’t keep doing it all.”
“Remember that this is temporary, okay? This isn’t going to last forever. I know it feels like that because you have been doing it for so long, but I’m not going to let you quit because you're tired. You've come too far. We have come too far. You have a few more months, Whit. That's it. Okay? After that, you graduate, then you go to law school and take that exam that allows you to be a lawyer."
“The Bar,” I say with a sniffle, wiping my nose on my hand.
She wrinkles her brows at me. “It’s too early to go to the bar. I’m talking about school, you mad woman.”
A boom of laughter escapes me, easing some of the rollercoaster’s worth of emotions inside me. Charlie is good at that. It’s part of the reason why I keep her around.
I unwrap myself from her tight hold and sit on the bed, tying my shoes. “That’s what the exam is called—the Bar Exam.”
“That is super misleading. Someone needs to talk to the head lawyer of that thing and explain to him that young professionals can’t be taking a test at the bar.”
I roll my eyes, smiling at her thought process. "You're a goof." She knows exactly what the bar is. She just likes to seem clueless.
“You love me,” she winks.
I hop from my sitting position to stand, grab my white apron off the nightstand, and kiss Charlie on the cheek. "Thanks for always being there for me for my meltdowns."
“I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. Now, go. You’re late.”
“Yes, ma’am!” I run into the living room, skip my way to the kitchen, and grab a banana. I can eat that on the way. “Bye!” I yell, before opening and slamming the door shut.
I dash down the steps, only to remember when I’m five feet away from my car that I don’t have my keys. “Damn it. Every time,” I mutter, running back up the steps, nearly tripping, but I stopped myself from falling on my face. When I get to the top without breaking my neck, I open my apartment door again, and Charlie is standing there holding my keys.
“You would lose your head if it wasn’t attached.”
I grab the darn keys, sticking my tongue out at her. "That's why I have you."
I make my escape out the door and down the stairs again—without tripping. It might not be a big deal for some, but it was for me. I tend to trip over air. I've broken both my arms, my left leg, my collarbone, and three of my fingers from tripping on my shoes. I blame my lack of coordination on my parents. They were in charge of teaching me the basics, like how to walk, and they missed a step somewhere—literally.
The thought of them reminds me that I need to call them. I haven't been home for dinner in a few weeks, and that means my mother is going to send Anthony after me if I don't get my butt over there. Anthony is the most responsible out of the entire Pope sibling crew. There is me, the klutz and the youngest, Kyle, the surfer middle child, and then Anthony, the eldest. He’s a doctor. He gave himself the title of protecting me, so when I don't come home for dinner, he stomps into my apartment like he owns the place and drags me back home. I miss them.
I insert the car key into the door, unlock the powerful 2004 Honda Civic, slide into the driver’s seat, and exhale. I can beat this day. I shove the key into the ignition. The belt squeals, causing me to cringe. It lasts forever, too. The people outside walking their dogs are looking at me with an annoyed expression that tells me I need to get my car fixed. Well, no shit. I know that. I need the money first.
Finally, the engine turns over. The A/C blows in my face, cooling my heated skin. It’s a scorcher today. The sun is high, the sky is blue, and I'm sure birds are chirping somewhere singing a song next to someone's open window, and that person is enjoying it. I, on the other hand, want to be in bed. The sun should be the moon, the sky should be black, and the only thing I want to hear is the sound of rain. It puts me to sleep.
I pull out of the parking spot, wave at the man that walks his five poodles every morning and drive away. Every time I leave my apartment, I feel like I'm leaving a job interview. That feeling of ‘not good enough' sinks into my chest like a weight every time I go.
I turn on Old Maple Road, passing all the maple trees. My favorite thing about living in San Francisco is that even in January it still looks like autumn. The leaves are bright red, and they decorate the green grass at the bottom of the tree trunks. Every time I drive down this road, I want to pull over and walk through the maze. There are hundreds of them lining the streets. The large trees provide a tunnel as I drive, creating a canopy of red. I want to take a walk through them, collecting the prettiest leaves with someone special, but I don’t have the time for love.
Plus, I have yet to find anyone that appreciates nature as much as me, and I refuse to get involved with someone who wants to ruin the planet. It makes me so angry to think about these beautiful trees being chopped down that I don't even notice that I'm speeding. Red and blue lights flicker in my rearview.
“Damn it! Not again!” I yell, slamming my hand on the steering wheel as I pull off to the side of the road. “This can’t be happening.”
I roll down my window and wait for Officer Richards to come to my window. This happens every other morning. Tomorrow I might be conscious of what I’m doing, but the next day? Forget it. I’m speeding down this hill like a bat out of hell.
The creak of his leather belt sounds like a speeding ticket as he bends over and puts his elbow on the window. “Good morning, Whitley.”
"Hi, Officer Richards," I mutter, picking one of my nails.
“Do you know why I pulled you over?”
He asks that every other morning, and every other morning I give the same answer. “Because you want to look at these pretty trees with me?”
When he smiles, his eyes crinkle, showing the crow’s feet on each side of his face. They look like happy lines from laughing so much. I hope I have that when I’m older.
“I wish, but no. You were—”
“—Speeding? I know. I don’t mean to.”
"Then why do you do it, Whitley? Come on, now. I don't want to have to tell your parents I've been pulling you over every other day for three months. I don't want to give you a ticket because I know your situation, but you're making it hard."
I sigh, feeling tears sting my eyes for the second time this morning. Don’t cry, I think to myself. Don’t cry. “I know, I’m sorry. I get so worked up thinking about these trees being cut down, and my adrenaline starts going, and I get this feeling like I want to fight. I take all my frustration out on the gas pedal. I’m sorry.”
“You’re a good kid. I’m giving you a warning ticket. Whitley, next time will be an actual ticket.” He stands, walking back to his car and getting the warning ticket ready.
I glance at the clock. I’m half an hour late now. If Tops doesn't fire me this time, I will kiss the old man right on the mouth.
Okay, maybe right on the cheek.
End of sample. Click here to continue reading Married To The Enemy.
About the Author
R.S. Lively is a romance writing duo consisting of Ruth Scott and Lauren Lively. With every page you turn, their passion for books and love of romance jumps out. Their novels are guaranteed to bring you laughter, and light up your day/night. If you're looking for a beautiful, sexy, funny, and sweet romance... You'll love their wonderful creations!
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