Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 78466 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78466 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Jory: As much as I appreciate this email, I really don’t think that this is the forum where you will receive the help you need.
Sam: Suck it up.
Jory: What?
Sam: That’s what you tell him.
Jory: I will not.
Sam: He needs to know. Being an adult is hard.
Jory: Sam.
Sam: He’s not fulfilled; he hates his job—I’m sorry, but that’s how it goes. Once you have kids, you’re not a man anymore. You’re a father. First and foremost, before anything else, you’re the protector and the provider. You never, ever, flinch away from your responsibilities. Ever. You’re done.
Jory: You make fatherhood sound so appealing.
Sam: It’s the greatest job in the world, but no one’s holding a gun to your head. You made that baby or adopted it or someone died and left you a kid and you said yes to the lawyer who knocked on your door. I don’t care. Once you’re a dad, you’re a dad. You don’t just decide one day that it’s hard.
Jory: I think he needs help. He needs someone to help with his mother and—
Sam: And that’s another thing. That’s your mom. Unless the abuse was horrific or she abandoned you or did drugs and drank…I dunno, but to me, your mother is your mother and you step up and take care of her, because without her, there was never a you to feel shitty about your life right now.
Jory: I think—okay. He needs to call social services and see what he can do about getting help with his mother.
Sam: If he has siblings, he needs to ship his mother to their house for three months or six months—I mean, share the load—but if there’s no one else, he does it alone. And yeah, talk to her. Does she want to do low-impact yoga? Maybe she wants to join a support group or get some physical therapy or maybe even a nutrition and knitting group. He needs to ask questions. And if she’s some angry, festering wound of a person, then—
Jory: Festering wound?
Sam: What? Maybe she has a horrible attitude, like the absolute worst, but still, he has to find someone to help schlep his shitshow of a mother wherever she needs to go.
Jory: So, you’re advocating what?
Sam: That he gets help not doing it all alone, but his issue with his mother is nothing a good shrink, a couple babysitters, and a talk with the rest of his family won’t fix.
Jory: It sounds like he’s done being a husband, too.
Sam: That’s his prerogative. If he wants to be out of the relationship with his wife, then he should. But if he hates his job so much, maybe he should start there.
Jory: If he’s the breadwinner, he can’t just quit.
Sam: But he can change his circumstances.
Jory: Like?
Sam: Is there any way that I could answer while you start making the hamburgers?
Jory: There’s no hamburgers. You all have the stomach flu.
Sam: Oh no, mine’s over.
Jory: I’m sorry?
Sam: Done.
Jory: Yours is over? This is what you’re saying? You’re just calling it done?
Sam: Yeah. I usually barf, like, three times and I’m over it.
Jory: That was only the one time when you had a mild case of food poisoning.
Sam: When you tried to kill me with the frozen eggrolls.
Jory: How many times do I—I did not try to kill you. They were in your freezer past their expiration date by, like, a year.
Sam: And you didn’t check.
Jory: Who keeps year-old food in their freezer?
Sam: Apparently I did.
Jory: God. So, what? You’re all better?
Sam: Yeah.
Jory: And your children?
Sam: I suspect still sick.
Kola: Dad.
Sam: That was quite a whine.
Jory: Don’t bounce his head on your shoulder like that.
Sam: I was just checking for signs of life.
Kola: You’re gonna make me barf again if you—just watch the show. Ohmygod, you’re all driving me nuts.
Hannah: What’d I do?
Jory: You actually want a burger?
Sam: And a hot dog. It’s the Fourth of July. Thomas Jefferson would want us to have hot dogs to celebrate him hitting his deadline.
Jory: Deadline?
Sam: The declaration was due, was it not? He got it done.
Jory: I think you might be delirious.
Sam: I’m hungry.
Jory: Well, fine, because I made them already. You have patties in the refrigerator ready to go.
Sam: Really? With the cheese inside?
Jory: Yessir.
Sam: And you made some of them spicy because you love me?
Jory: I did.
Sam: Ohmygod, I love you so much.
Jory: This sounds suspiciously like you love me because I cook for you.
Sam: No. Not just that. It’s not the only reason.
Jory: You sound super convincing, by the way.
Sam: Follow me out to the grill.
Jory: Shall I get you a beer?
Sam: …
Jory: Oh. Well. I…kissing is good.
Sam: Let me show you what I can do with my hands.
Jory: Just—go already. I’ll be right out.
Sam: You need to finish with that guy.
Jory: And say what?
Sam: He needs a counselor. Tell him not to leave his family. He needs to talk to someone, and he needs to quit his job and do something he loves, as long as it’s not something super dicey like becoming a mob enforcer or being a lounge singer in Vegas.