out too far.
There was a time my dad would’ve fixed it. Just like the dripping faucet and the crooked cabinet door next to the oven. But that was before Mom passed away, before a couple of dark years where my dad barely held it together.
But things were turning around now. Dad was back at work. Maybe soon he would be back to the honey-do list.
Even if he didn’t have a honey to make the list anymore.
I frowned, ignoring the dark clouds creeping into the back of my mind. I wasn’t going down this path. Not tonight.
Besides, I could fix the stupid chair myself.
I was sitting on the dusty floor of my dad’s workshop, the chair upside down and my fingers practically glued together, staring at my handiwork.
Not bad. It took a whole hour to figure out how to get the leg to line up right and stay that way while the glue dried, yet I couldn’t help but feel a little smug.
Lights splashed across the wall, and a car pulled into the drive.
I stepped outside of the workshop just as my dad switched the lights off and stepped out of his car.
“Hey,” I said, pinching my fingers together to test the tackiness. They stuck, slowly peeling away as I pulled them apart.
“Hey, Ren,” he said, and I smiled involuntarily at the nickname. I’d hated that nickname, once upon a time. In high school when I thought I was too old for childish monikers.
Now, though, it just reminded me of the time before everything fell apart. A time when my family bathed in the glow of love and happiness. We weren’t rich, but we didn’t need to be, either. We had each other.
Before my mother’s cancer yanked it all apart, throwing our lives in a blender.
“What are you doing?” he asked, taking in the open door behind me.
“Just a little fix-it project.”
I led him into the workshop, my eyes adjusting to the dim light.
“You fixed the chair,” he said with some surprise, but approval as well.
“Hopefully.” I grinned. “No guarantees.”
He slung an arm around my shoulders. “You’re a good kid, you know that?”
I elbowed him in the ribs. “I’m not a kid, dad, I’m twenty-one.”
“I don’t care if you’re fifty, you’re still my kid. And I’m proud of you.”
For what? I wanted to ask, but I resisted. I should have been finishing my degree. I should have been searching out internships and starting my career.
Instead I was fixing old chairs and working at the mall. Yeah, lots to be proud of.
But I didn’t want to ruin the moment, so I didn’t say any of it. I just smiled up at him. “Feel like spaghetti?” I asked. “I think we have garlic bread.”
“Sure,” he said, following me up the steps and into the house. “How was your day?”
I pulled noodles out of the cupboard and filled a pot, pondering what to say to Dad about the man who’d reappeared in my life, striding right out of a Forbes magazine and seeing me in all my pathetic glory.
I settled on nothing.
“Pretty good. Went shopping with Annie. How about you?”
“Great,” he said, with surprising bounce to his voice.
I glanced over my shoulder. “Yeah?”
“They’re talking about giving me a new district to manage. My own company rig.”
“Wow, really?” I turned, resting a hip on the counter. “Dad, that’s amazing.”
“I guess they really missed me while I was out,” he said, beaming. “Sales took a dive and never quite came back. So now they want me to work with a couple new guys, figure out what they’re doing wrong and get them set up.”
My heart swelled at the pride in his voice. He sounded more and more like his old self with every passing day. What had once seemed so impossible now seemed in our grasp. “That sounds like a promotion.”
“It is,” he said, opening up his lunch cooler to reveal a bottle of champagne. “The formal offer came today.”
“Dad that’s amazing!” I said, rushing over to hug him.
Finally, finally, some good news in this house. We all deserved it. “I’m so proud of you!”
I knew my words mirrored his own just moments before, but it was the truth. After a year of grieving, he’d pulled himself out of the dark place he’d been dwelling in. Gone back to work, proved his worth, and started building something.
“Thanks, Ren. I knew you’d be excited.”
His eyes shimmered, just the slightest bit, glittering with tears he was holding back. He wanted to celebrate with Mom. He wanted to dance