“Good people can do bad things, and bad people can do good things. One does not exclude the other. In fact”—Dr. Ruben holds a finger aloft—“several things can be true at the same time.”
I’m still processing, but Dr. Ruben continues. “So, you go on and move in with Gabriel?”
“Yes. Pretty soon after that. Like the rest of our relationship, we didn’t waste any time.”
“How’d your dad handle it?”
“Better than I would’ve guessed.”
“Why do you frown when you say that?”
CHAPTER 10
I’d thoughtmy dad would care a little about me moving in with Gabriel three months after our first date. But, no.
He’s leaning against the kitchen counter, arms crossed. He’s smiling.
His wedding is in two weeks, and I think he’s high on love. And on Gabriel, if I’m being honest. Gabriel is every father’s dream. Respectful, chivalrous, employed, home owner. Also, that part where Gabriel saved his daughter’s life? Automatic entry.
I don’t want my dad to put up a fuss, but some pushback would be nice. Just enough to let me know he doesn’t want to give up his little girl, but not so much that I have to dig in my heels.
“You sure you’re ok with it?” I ask.
Dad chuckles. “Lara moved in here the second we got off the plane.”
I stand beside him at the counter. “So it’s not a ‘do as I say, not as I do’ situation?”
He shakes his head. “Not at all. Besides, you’re an adult.” He slings an arm over my shoulders. “You’ve been an adult since you were a kid.”
I frown at the pride in his voice. Children are only adults because they were forced to become them. Newsflash, it’s the last thing a kid should have to be.
Yet, here he is, tucking me into the crook of his arm, jostling me affectionately. It’s as if he likes the trajectory of my life thus far, the way I took care of Camryn after our mom died.
I wish I could say all this to him. It would feel so good to release the words and their emotional toll. But then I picture his crestfallen face, the hurt springing into his eyes, and I know I never will.
“I’ll probably be out by this Sunday.” Stepping away, I reach into the fridge for a jug of tea. Lara makes a mixture of green tea and black tea, and it’s become my favorite thing. “It’s not as if I have much to pack.”
I’ve been slow to replace anything that isn’t pertinent, due to space constraints. Lucky for me, most of my childhood belongings were boxed and left behind in my dad’s garage. The fire affected most of everything in my room. Even if things weren’t touched by flame, everything reeks of smoke or melted from the heat. I wasn’t able to salvage as much as I’d originally hoped, but in a stroke of absentmindedness I’d left my backpack holding all my work and my laptop in my car that night. Between the photo of my mom and the backpack being left in the car, my loss was minimal. It was Sabrina, or more specifically, Sabrina’s parents, who experienced the most loss. Even the furniture in my room didn’t belong to me, but to them.
“Gabriel is a good man,” my dad says. “It’s not easy for a dad to let his daughter go, but knowing you’re going to a man like Gabriel makes it a hell of a lot easier.”
“I guess I know how to pick them,” I respond.
When I arrive at Gabriel’s with a car full of my belongings, I find he’s cleared out half his closet. What this really means is that he’s pushed together all his clothing and made space for me on the racks.
He pulls out the top two drawers of his dresser. “All yours.” He smiles excitedly, his full grin showing his teeth.
“Two whole drawers?” I place my hands on my cheeks and widen my eyes playfully.
His arms go around my waist as he chuckles. “What can I say, I like to spoil my girl.”
I press my nose to the front of his shirt. It smells clean, with a hint of his spicy cologne. “Mmm,” I moan softly. “You make me so happy.”
Gabriel drops a kiss on the top of my head. “Good. Because making you happy has become my number one pastime.”
Gabriel and I make dinner together that evening, but it’s more like he cooks and I assist. We bump into each other in the kitchen, laughing and apologizing. The fourth time it happens, Gabriel says, “I’m bumping into you on purpose.”
“Is that right?” I wind my arms around his neck, a spatula in one hand and a spoon in the other. “Is that the cooking equivalent of chasing me on the elementary school playground?”
