Page 31 of Never Bargain with the Boss
I feel like everything she just shared is only the outermost layer on the onion that is Riley Stefano, and I regret that I judged her so quickly and incorrectly, because she is already proving to be so much more.
“You’re good at it. I’m sorry it came at such a high price, but you’re a total pro. Saving not only lucky kids, but stupid dads with zero sense too.” Self-deprecation isn’t my usual style, but the reminder of what I am to her—the bumbling father who signs her paychecks and nothing more—seems timely.
She blushes. Well, in the dim lighting on the porch, I can’t be sure she does, but she ducks her chin like she doesn’t want me to see her reaction. “Thank you. And you’re not stupid. You’re a great dad. Grace is lucky to have you.”
“Yeah?” I ask, startled by the praise. “I don’t feel like it.”
The admission should be difficult. I’m used to shoving my feelings down, hiding my anxiety away, and showing a façade of complete confidence to the world. I think that’s why I work so hard to make sure I’m doing a good job with Grace—because no one expected me to. Myself least of all. But she’s the most important thing in my life. She’s it for me.
Riley looks at me in disbelief, and with her sharing so much of herself, giving no regard for how vulnerable it makes her, the words come easier than usual.
“Most of the time, I feel like I’m wading in crystal-blue, beautiful water, thinking everything is fine, when I’m actually completely unaware of the dozen piranhas, two sharks, and killer whale hunting me, all ready to rip me limb from limb and eat me alive.”
Riley laughs, and a warm feeling spreads in my chest. I’m not a funny person, so making her laugh feels like a major accomplishment. “Graphic,” she says. “But you know you’re a good dad, so quitfishingfor compliments.” Riley’s eyebrow arches as she waits for me to catch the silly pun.
I’m not a jokester, so I’m not sure what’s gotten into me today, but before I can question it, I mime casting a line and reeling in a whopper, then wave my hand like ‘give me something, please, anything’ and wait eagerly to see what she comes back with.
She tilts her head, her eyes going serious as she peers at me. Waving her hand between us, she says, “This is pretty chill.”
The words are weighted with importance and make me feel successful in an entirely different way than some deal negotiation does. Riley’s scrutiny is deeper somehow, and her approval hard-won.
And of course, she’s right. This is chill. It’s been a better Saturday than any I remember. Actually, I don’t even remember last Saturday. Today just became my new benchmark.
“Thanks to you.”
RILEY
“How was your day?”
It’s mid-week, after dinner, so I’m supposed to be officially off the clock, but this new routine isn’t about a paycheck. It’s… normal. Cameron comes home, where I’ve got dinner waiting, and the three of us sit down to eat together. After that, Grace will disappear upstairs to talk to friends and shower while Cameron and I clean up and then move to the living room to talk about our day. Usually, we end up like we are now, sitting at opposite ends of the couch, our eyes ping-ponging over each other while we talk.
It's comfortable and easy, two things I secretly enjoy because they give me a sense of peaceful calm I rarely experience. And yes, I’m hoarding every single one of these moments like little precious gemstones so I can carry them with me when I go. Whenever I’ve moved on to whatever’s next, I’ll close my eyes and live in these moments again, remembering Cameron and Grace fondly.
“Good. We went to the barn for Grace’s lesson, and you’ll be happy to know that Miller and Shana are hooking up—I mean ‘going out’—Friday.” I throw up air quotes so he knows that I truly meant the former, not the latter correction.
He replies with a roll of his eyes and quips sarcastically, “May the lovebirds live happily ever after.”
“Or at least until Saturday morning’s walk of shame,” I reply, tilting my head with a pointed look. It’s not that I think Miller and Shana can’t be a long-term thing, but having met both of them now, I don’t think either of them is actually looking for that. “We also went to Starbucks for Frappuccinos.” I sigh dramatically, and Cameron goes tense. “That girl,” I say, soothing his worry with a grin, even as I whine.
“What’d she do now?” he asks, a smile teasing at his lips. He can’t wait to hear what antics his beloved daughter has gotten up to now.
“She went full debate mode with me, arguing whether today was visit number one or two,” I inform him. “We finally came to the agreement that the week officially begins on Monday, so she gets two frappes between Monday and Sunday, and visits don’t roll over if she doesn’t use one, nor can she borrow from the next week.”
Cameron presses his lips together, but this time, rather than being a sign of anger, it seems like he’s trying to hold back a laugh at my high-stakes negotiations with Grace. “Sounds like a fair resolution,” he says evenly. But his eyes are sparkling.
“Are you actually laughing at me?” I demand. “You have no idea how hard I had to work to hammer that out with her.” I push my hair behind my ear, feigning exasperation, but too quickly, I give in and smile. “And so we’re on the same page… Visit number one of the week is ticked off the permissible activities list. Otherwise, you know that girl will play us against each other.”
“That, she will,” he agrees. “What about you? What did you do today?”
“I went to a farmer’s market and learned all about honey. I even tried six different kinds. My favorite was the wildflowerone, but I bought the buckwheat one. I want to put a spoonful in your shakes because it’s supposed to be full of antioxidants. And I thought it’d stand up to your greens powder better.”
The market was so fun. I walked around for nearly two hours, shopping and chatting with people who’d made all their own products. The beekeeper had been deeply passionate about his hobby and eager to educate a willing student, so I was happy to buy a big jar of the fruits of his bees’ labor.
“You bought me honey?” He sounds incredulous. Or horrified. I’m not sure which, but there’s a hollowness to the question.
I nod. “Yeah, is that okay? You don’t have to try it if you don’t want to.”
Before he can answer, Grace races into the room. “Will you braid my hair now?”