Page 86 of Enemy Daddy Next Door

They’re about the coldness in her heart. That’s her own problem.

“You okay, sweetheart?” Dad nudges me with his elbow.

“No,” I reply and then smile.

He smiles back and leans his forehead to my temple. “You’ve been going through it. You want to talk about it?”

I shrug. “I just…don’t feel like enough. For anyone.”

“Oh, honey –”

“You don’t count. You’re my dad.”

He holds himself back from saying the obligatory, “Not just because I’m your dad,” thankfully.

“I can’t get my publisher interested in any of my story ideas. Nothing I think of is ‘light-hearted’ enough. I’m barely sleeping. And whenever I’m not thinking about work I’m thinking about Hunter. And I hate it.”

Dad tsks. “What for, Amy?”

“Because I’ve been with him like, what, two months? I shouldn’t feel this enmeshed. This responsible for –”

“It’s because you care for him. Nothing is wrong for you. You’ve always had such a magnanimous heart.”

“Seriously? Magnanimous at a time like this?”

Dad scoffs. “You know what I mean. Big heart. You’ve always loved so easily. That makes it even easier to get a broken heart.”

“Yeah, there’s a reason I haven’t dated. And this is it.”

“Well, there’s no reason to hold back your love just because you’re afraid of being hurt. That’s a silly way to live.”

“It’s a safe way to live.”

“Well, fuck that.”

I laugh. “Dad!”

“Seriously. Fuck that. I fell in love. I got hurt. But I also have five beautiful daughters, and if not getting hurt means I never got the five of you, well, that sounds even worse.”

“You’re such a sap.”

“You love it.”

He kisses the side of my head, sweat of his upper lip brushing my skin. I push him away, cringing with laughter. “Daddy, stop it!”

“Look, you and Hunter…this is a complication. But if you’re willing to give space for it in your life, then that means it’s a complication worth having.”

I look down at the box of Mom’s things. A life can only have so many complications at once without totally breaking down. Dad has invited me here to give me an opportunity to let go of one of them.

I think it’s time.

I carefully take the box. “I’ll carry this the rest of the way.”

“If that’s what you want, pumpkin. You ready?”

We climb the rest of the way to Verdugo Peak. Though the Solace family subscribes to the messaging of, “Leave only footprints, take only pictures,” a moment like this calls for a little disruption.

Dad pulls out a small trowel and digs up a hole underneath some nearby brush. When it’s deep enough, I hand him the box.

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