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410 pages, Kindle Edition
First published March 5, 2024
„It’ll clear, you know,” Christian said out of nowhere.
„What will?”
He slowed and looked over at me. „The dust storm.”
I stared at the chestnut hairs of Dottie’s mane. „What are you talking about?”
„All the shit that gets stirred up and clouds your mind. Eventually it’ll settle. You’ll be able to breathe easier.” He looked ahead. „Doesn’t make it better in the moment. Dust storms happen. It’s okay to close your eyes and stumble through.”
„I know you didn’t have enough whiskey in your ice cream to give you a hangover, so this attitude you have with my girls? Cut it out.”
Cassandra made eye contact with me as she wrapped her hand around mine and yanked the coffee pot out from under the machine. „I don’t have an attitude.”
„My house. My rules. If I say your attitude sucks, then it sucks. Fix it.”
Bree sat stock-still as I sectioned her hair and started weaving flat strands, one on top of the other. Braids were easy. It was that fucking curling iron that was the death of me.
What kind of father encouraged his kids to go to therapy like an emotionally available, self-aware parent? Didn’t Christian know he was supposed to ignore all expressions of personal feelings like the rest of the dads out there? Or at least like mine had.
„It’s tradition. We always color in Uncle Ray’s tattoos.”
„He got them for us,” Gracie said with a grin.