actually trust him to represent my best interests—not once Karl starts spinning tales about how hard he worked to establish the firm and how most of it should thus, rightfully, belong to him.
“I’m still your father, you know.”
There is a wealth of emotions in those words and at a different time, I might want to explore them and what they mean. But that isn’t today. I’m just too exhausted. Everything that happened over the past couple of days has taken the last of my emotional strength, and I don’t have anything left for the complicated mess that is my relationship with my parents.
Someday, I will talk to my dad about everything that happened since I told them that I was leaving Karl. But someday is definitely not today. Not even close.
“I know.” I drop a kiss on the top of his head.
And then I change the subject to lighter things.
We talk for a few more minutes, and then my dad pushes back from the table. “If you’re in a pinch, I can hire you at the firm. You can be an assistant office manager—I know it’s a step down from what you were doing for Karl, but we’ve got Lottie, who handles all the big managerial tasks. Still, we can always use—”
“No, Dad,” I say firmly, even as I take his hand in mine.
Going from Karl to my dad feels like a definite step backward, and I can’t do that right now, not if I want to be able to keep looking at myself in the mirror. Not if I want to keep telling myself that I really am moving forward.
“There might be a time when I have to take you up on that offer. I hope there isn’t, but I’m realistic enough to admit that there might be,” I say. “But I’m not there yet. I appreciate the offer—and no matter what happens, I will always appreciate it. But I’ve got this.”
He looks around the kitchen, which is now clean but still needs a good coat of paint and probably a new floor.
“You’ve got this?” he asks doubtfully.
“I do.”
And as I say the words, it hits me. I do have this. Somehow, some way, I’ll figure things out—with Karl, with the house, with myself.
It’s gonna take a while, but the best things always do. Besides, who cares? Right now, it feels like I have nothing but time.
Chapter Twenty-Five
I walk my dad out through the backyard—no way am I letting him on that death trap of a porch again—then sit down at the patio table and try to figure out what I want to do next.
I could go over to see Nick, but I figure he isn’t home from work yet.
I could spend some more time going through my aunt’s photo cabinets so I can finish up the family room once and for all.
Or I could pick a random room and start going through it—God knows, there are way too many left to do.
In the end, though, I decide to start with a late lunch—avocado toast and a sparkling water consumed over the sink. Then I snap the pictures of the HOA dumpster request forms that I meant to handle last night when my mom called. It takes a few minutes, but I finally get all the HOA documents submitted.
Now all I can do is wait.
With nothing left but to procrastinate from the real work inside, I decide to skip the pictures in the cabinet—I’d rather do them when I have the time and can actually enjoy sorting through them instead of just trying to sift all the clutter out of the boxes. That means only one thing: it’s time to start on the dining room.
The table is big enough for ten, even without the leaf, and has several boxes of stuff at either end. That won’t take that long to go through. I do a tight spin because of the many shoeboxes on the floor and give a hard look to the china cabinet that is completely full of Wedgwood and another cabinet half full with Mottahedeh I spotted years ago at Neiman Marcus. Knowing Aunt Maggie as I feel I do not, I figure it isn’t just china inside the cabinets. There’s probably a Costco-size amount of tropical drink umbrellas or something, too.
After grabbing a box of trash bags from the newly cleaned shelves in the laundry room, I pick out one of my aunt’s albums at random and put it on. Jim Croce’s voice fills the house