47. My daughter’s babysitter

47. My Daughter’s babysitter.

<< . Mikolaj . >>

Riley is perched on the kitchen counter, swinging her legs back and forth. There is a playful glint in her eyes. She has been asking me questions and is euphoric that I am answering her. Apparently she got deeply offended that on Halloween I talked to Natalie and Ira while ignoring her.

Although I don’t see the point of this so-called interview. She won’t remember most of the conversation we are having.

“Do you like reading?” She asks, taking another gulp. Her cheeks are flushed from the alcohol.

“Yes.”

“What do you read?"

“Mostly science fiction. Sometimes non fiction too."

"When do you find time?"

"Before sleep. If I am not too tired...”

“How long is your TBR list?”

“TBR list?”

She rolls her eyes. “To Be Read list?”

I laugh. “What’s up with the fucking abbreviations in your generation…”

“Abbreviations save time, Old Man! And don’t change the topic,” she rebukes me, taking one more sip, only to realize her glass is empty