Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 122966 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 615(@200wpm)___ 492(@250wpm)___ 410(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122966 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 615(@200wpm)___ 492(@250wpm)___ 410(@300wpm)
I was hot, irritated, and exhausted by the time Grace had cried herself to sleep that night.
Despite the cold weather, I stepped into my slippers and brought a beer and a pack of smokes out onto the patio. I grabbed one of the chair cushions from the little toolshed, then slumped down in a chair and lit up a smoke.
I coughed slightly on the first drag.
Darius had been on my mind all evening, and I couldn’t help but draw parallels between him and me. He’d dealt with disasters and horrific situations most of his adult life, and now he’d retired from it, yet…his mind was still there. Every decision he made for the rest of his life would be colored by his past. To him, the next disaster wasn’t a matter of if, just a matter of when. And he prepared for it. It was how he coped.
Education had played a similar role for me. It’d been my one ticket to independence and freedom, sometimes to the point where I’d been obsessive about it. I’d worked day and night to unshackle myself from my mother’s grasp. As long as I’d had a place to sleep, a few packets of ramen, and a bottle of multivitamins, I’d been golden. It’d been all I needed while I studied. Every class had taken me further away from my childhood.
But had it worked?
I stuck to the shadows, even to this day. I lived on the fringes of other people’s lives. I was an honorary Quinn, but it wasn’t my family. Not really. I was…something…to Pipsqueak, except not really. She had my heart in a goddamn vise, but I was holding out hope for a future I wasn’t sure would materialize. She was where she was supposed to be. Starting her life, creating something, building herself up.
I took a pull from the cigarette and exhaled.
Was I done? Was this it? Had I accomplished everything I’d wanted to?
I’d never traveled—ever. I’d attended college here in Washington, I’d visited Vancouver a few times, I’d been to Victoria… I had a passport, but I’d never gone farther than Portland—DC being the only exception, and we’d only been there for Jake’s funeral.
Fuck.
I rubbed at my chest as an unease quickly grew within me.
This couldn’t be it.
For the first time in my existence, everything was too safe. I’d gone too far while going absolutely nowhere at all. I’d gained my independence; I had a good job—a well-paid one, at that—I had a mortgage, and I had Grace, the light of my life. But in my quest to break free from the hell of my childhood, I’d only sheltered myself.
My burning hatred was thankfully gone. I’d done most of my growing up in my adulthood when I’d had the opportunity to do so, which meant I’d grown up alongside the Quinns, and they had shown me everything I hadn’t known was real. Kindness, honesty, unconditional love. Most importantly, amazing women who’d helped me move past the betrayals of my mother and ex-wife.
In short, the Quinns had made me a better man.
But this somewhat decent man had to live too. I couldn’t merely exist.
Christ, I hoped Finn was figuring all this out. I hoped he’d found a healthier way to cope.
He’d been on my mind more lately, too. Pipsqueak not being around had given me way too much time to think.
I’d thought about reaching out to him again, but I couldn’t bring myself. He’d moved on. He’d cut those ties.
“Fuck it,” I muttered to myself. Enough thinking for one day. Time to go to bed.
I made it through the holidays without Pipsqueak, thanks to Darius. Mary was always happy to watch Grace, so I spent most of my spare time with Darius at his restaurant-to-be. We’d fixed the walls—torn one down to open up the future dining area—and polished the old floors.
By the end of January, we’d put the new bar into place.
By the end of February, his new kitchen was installed.
In March, he found thirty-four old wooden barrels on Craigslist and decided to build the tables for the restaurant himself.
I was happy to help. Anything to keep that rattling box of restlessness and unease locked in the back of my mind.
It kind of worked, but the closer we got to Darius’s opening day, the more I realized I’d just crash at the end. I was helping my best friend build something for himself; this wasn’t for me. It would get me nowhere. Thus, it didn’t take care of my goddamn problem.
On the flip side, it did inspire me. Or rather, push me, toward the point where I actually had to do something about my very early midlife crisis.
The restaurant was turning out fucking beautiful. The dark floor gleamed in the sunlight that filtered through the windows, and the bar looked much better than it had under the previous owner. It was better-placed here too. On less busy nights, Darius had explained there wouldn’t be a hostess desk at the entrance, because the bar was just fifteen or so feet away from the doors, straight ahead. And it divided the establishment into two halves, one small to the left, where the bar service would be. Tables would stand a little closer to one another, with more chairs, and quick access to the bathrooms.