Page 1 of It's Always Sonny

Chapter One

Parker

My heels click fast and loud against the hardwood as I stride through the kitchen. I rummage through the tray where I keep my personal effects when I notice one of my best friends at our table.

Neither of us are morning people, so while I’m up because I have a client meeting, anxiety-induced insomnia, and an unhealthy commitment to yoga and “winning the morning”—which I loathe—I can’t imagine why she is.

“Hey, what are you doing up?” I ask Ash, who’s looking at her phone.

She pushes her phone away and plants her cheek on the table, staring at me with wide, watery eyes.

“Why am I such a disaster?” she asks quietly.

“What? Who texted you?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“You are not a disaster. You’re the brightest light in any room, and that light attracts noxious little bugs. Who texted you?” I repeat. I know I’m being pushy, and she doesn’t deserve my ire, but I can’t let her self-flagellate for another second.

“My dad.”

“He’s not your dad. He’s Frank, and Frank sucks.”

“I know. And I forgot to take my melatonin last night, so I saw his text in the middle of the night and haven’t slept since.”

“I hate him.”

“Don’t hate him. But will you grab my pill while you’re up? The last thing I need is to forget that, too.”

Ash beating herself up for having ADHD and a crappy father makes me so angry, it burns the back of my eyes. I put a pod of her favorite tea into the Keurig, grab her pill, and jot down a quick note on a notepad. When the tea is done, I add a hint of honey, just the way Ash likes it. I bring all three over to her at the table—the tea, the medication, and the note.

“The next time you comment lovingly on something your mom and step-dad post on Facebook, change the audience so Frank can’t see it, okay? Or better yet, block the narcissistic scumbag, already.”

“How did you know that’s what happened?”

“Because I have a PhD in emotionally unavailable fathers, and yours is the reigning world champion.” I give my friend a quick hug. “He sucks, not you. You are perfect.”

“I’m not perfect.”

“You are to me. Gotta run.”

Ash is swallowing her medication as I exit the kitchen, and just as I reach the door, I hear her yell.

“‘Ash’s List of Awesome’?” She’s reading the note I left for her with reminders of a few quick reasons why she’s the literal, actual best. “You’re a kindness ninja, did you know that?”

“I think every other person who’s ever met me would disagree with you!” I call back. “Toodlezzz!”

Once I’m in my Volvo SUV, I speed as fast as I think I can get away with. My client meeting is in Columbia, less than an hour drive from the sleepy town of Sugar Maple where I now live. Ash may think I’m a kindness ninja, but those seven minutes I spent with her ate into my schedule.

I don’t begrudge it.

But I should have cut my workout short.

Or dry-shampooed my hair.

I’m committed to this whole “win the morning” idea that I heard on a sports podcast a few months ago. The athlete being interviewed made a compelling case for why a solid morning routine made for a better life, and I thought I’d give it a try.

Also, I was a Level Nine gymnast at one time in my life, and I feel better exercising than not. So every day, I wake up at an unholy hour, make my bed, workout, shower, and then win the freaking day.

---