The Truth

The consultant can read the room and feel the sale closing on its own. “Should I ask the question?”

Harper looks to her mom, who nods. One by one, we all give her our stamp of approval, but I don’t think she needs them. She knows. It’s all over her face.

“Harper, are you saying yes to the dress?”

Harper runs her hands down her sides, feeling the material, and over her hips. She swishes a little, thoughtfully. “Yes!” she shouts, holding her hands up wide in a V for victory.

We clap and stand, surrounding her in a huddle of a group hug. The consultant, who has been incredibly patient with our antics, smiles and refills our champagne flutes.

We share a toast, though I barely sip mine because even the smell of alcohol is still too much after the Donut Bliss Buzz incident. Harper is feeling her own bliss, though, and downs the whole flute in one drink.

“I’m getting married!” she squeals.

Chapter 13

Daniel

Going for a run with Ricky has become a keystone of our Saturday routines. I know he hates it, being forced out of bed and out of the arms of the woman he loves. But I also know that he and Billy had this conversation, and after Billy’s single bachelor lifestyle more or less shot his help in the ass a few times, Ricky picked up the ball himself.

Why? He does it for me because he knows if he doesn’t pull me out of the house, I would spend all weekend cooped up and working.

Oh, I wouldn’t couch potato, or I guess chair potato, the whole weekend. But I probably wouldn’t see the outside world until I went to work on Monday. I’d go from my bedroom to my living room to my home office, with the occasional trip to the bathroom for the necessary relief.

So, Ricky drags me out of the house for a run. For a long time, at least until I knew how serious he was getting with Miranda, I never considered that it’s probably hard for him to get away too.

It’s just always been our routine. But I realized a few months ago that I was being an asshole, so I try and make sure in subtle ways to tell Ricky I appreciate his Saturday sacrifice.

“What are the kids and Miranda doing today?” I ask as we jog along.

He huffs and puffs a few times before answering, “Volleyball tournament.”

“You didn’t want to go?” I ask, surprised. “We could’ve skipped our run.”

Ricky looks at me sideways, confusion written on his face. He slows to a jog, and I match his new pace as he lifts his hands to rest on his head. He catches his breath enough to explain,

“Isabella used to play volleyball with her dad before he passed. It was one of their things. I’ll help her train, sure. But play? Not something I want to intrude on. It means a lot to her and Miranda to do that together, just the two of them. I told Bella good luck this morning and will gladly listen to her play-by-play later. That’s what she needs from me.”

“That’s insightful.” I mean it as a compliment, but a quick flash of pain crosses his face.

“Yeah, I’ve been reading a bunch of books on stepparenting kids after the loss of a parent,” Ricky admits after a few moments. “I don’t know if Miranda ever would want to let me put a ring on her, but I’m in her kids’ lives and I want to do right by them.”

“I’m sure they appreciate that, Miranda especially.”

We’re walking now, slow enough that people are passing us on the wide sidewalk of downtown, and I realize that while I’ve always considered myself to have two priorities—work and Elle—I might’ve missed out on some other things I should’ve been paying closer attention to. Especially since Elle moved away and I buried myself deeper and deeper into the one thing I had left—work.

Maybe in focusing on Fox Industries, I’ve become detached from the other things that matter, like my nephews.

I stop completely, facing Ricky. “I don’t tell you this enough, but you’re a good man, Ricky. I’m proud of you, for what you’re doing for your family and for who you are. I know my situation isn’t the same, but I was a single parent like Miranda, so if there’s ever anything I can do or something you want to talk about, I’m here for you.”

Ricky gives me a grateful nod, about the most expression he’s used to showing with ‘guys’. “Thanks, Uncle Daniel.”

We walk a few more steps, lost in our own thoughts before Ricky speaks again. “If you really meant that, there is something I’d like to do.”

“Anything. Name it.”

“Can we stop fucking running for the day and just get coffee or something? I get enough cardio. I don’t need to get more dragging your ass out of the house. Shit, I’ll even drink one of those gross smoothies you like so much if I can sit down.”