Nice Guys Don't Win (The Boys #2) - Micalea Smeltzer Page 0,8
when he told me congratulations and opened his arms for a hug, and I just dodged him. Like he was nothing. Before then I’d spend the occasional holiday with him, not because he didn’t want me to but because I loved my mom and felt like I had to be loyal to her, even though she never said or did anything to make me feel ill toward my father. That wasn’t my mom. She was a good, kind soul. Better than me, better than anyone I’ve known. What he didn’t know at my graduation, is the day before my mother confessed she’d been diagnosed with ovarian cancer. She told me to be optimistic, that she’d be fine, but I knew my mom better than anyone and always knew when she was lying.
She was dead a year later, gone almost to the day of when she was diagnosed.
Perhaps her loss is why I latched on so strongly to Todd, even when I knew he was all wrong for me.
Reaching the door, I take a deep, fortifying breath and smooth my hands down the front of my simple flowered dress. Cole had jokingly asked if I was going on a date when he saw me leaving. I reluctantly grumbled out that I was going to my dad’s house for dinner.
I would’ve much rather met on neutral ground at a restaurant, but he was insistent that his wife, Allison, wanted to make me a home-cooked meal.
I know it’s unfair to Allison that I don’t like her. It’s not like she’s done anything to me. But I guess seeing her, and the kids they’ve had together, reminds me of what I should’ve had.
But now that I’m here in Tennessee and going to Aldridge, it’s time I made more of an effort. At least when it comes to my younger half-siblings.
After stalling long enough, I raise my hand and push the doorbell. It rings through the house.
Allison hurries to the door, her blonde hair cut off at her shoulders. She smiles at me behind the door. Opening it, she lets me in. “Zoey, I’m so glad you could come.” She opens her arms to hug me. I’ve always denied her embraces in the past, but this time I accept it and there’s no missing the happiness in her bright blue eyes. It makes me feel like a bitch for things I’ve said and done in the past.
“Thanks for having me.” I release her. She’s dressed in a nice pair of jeans and wraparound top. I wish I would’ve worn jeans now, but it’s too late to change.
“Everyone’s this way.” She nods for me to follow her.
We enter a massive kitchen with state-of-the-art appliances, shiny granite countertops, and cabinets I’ve only ever seen in homes well over a million dollars—which I’m sure this place is.
“Dinner’s almost ready.” She gives my shoulder a squeeze as my dad stands up from the large table in the kitchen. I’m glad we won’t be eating in some fancy dining room. Even though the kitchen is luxurious it definitely feels more relaxed.
“Hey, Zo-bug.” My dad’s voice booms as he stands to his full six-foot-nine height. His hands are massive, the size of dinner plates. I remember when I was little, I was always putting things in his hands to compare the size.
“Hi, Dad.” Like with Allison, I make myself hug him. He squeezes me tight, holding on like he doesn’t want to let go, and I swear the guilt is going to smother me just like his massive arms. Craning my neck back to fully take him in, I ask, “How are you?”
You’d think with such a giant for a dad I would’ve been taller than my five-seven stature, but my mom was a barely five-foot Latina powerhouse, and I inherited a lot of her genes. It definitely wasn’t always easy growing up as an Afro-Latina, but I love my heritage, both sides, even if I’ve harbored anger toward my dad over the years.
You know, I guess I should be thankful he realized that my mom wasn’t the love of his life and didn’t stay in a loveless marriage, but as a teenager growing up without my dad in those vital year, not looking like the other kids, it was hard.
“I’m good, I’m good.” His eyes flit over me, taking in every detail like he’s trying to memorize me. “How are you? You’ve gotten all the furniture set up okay? I told you I’d come help.”