Page 19 of Matched with Her Athlete Boss

“What if I give you fifteen minutes in each room to find anything you want to keep? Then I’ll put the rest of the stuff that isn’t garbage into piles and we’ll go through them together?” The piles are something I’d started doing once I moved away to college, and even now at the Spice House. Something about seeing everything I own makes it easier to decide what to keep and where it should go.

He nods. “I can do that.”

He walks into the bedroom. I want to cry at the state of the place. The man had a rough childhood with his mom leaving and his dad sinking into a deep depression. My mother left after six years together because of the mess, but even then, it wasn’t to this degree. The man has scars I haven’t focused on for so long that I nearly forgot about them.

“I know, I know what you’re thinking.” His words make me check my expression, hoping to put on a mask that won’t show him how grossed out I am.

Shaking my head, I say, “Dad, it will be okay. We’ll figure out what we need here and then get this all cleaned up.” If only it’s as easy as saying the words. This project is going to require a lot more time than I originally planned. “There’s nothing here we can’t fix. We’ve just got to take things one step at a time.”

Even as I say the words, I want to dig in and get going on this. My dad deserves a home, one he’s comfortable bringing people to.

“Has Sherry been here in a while?” I ask. I haven’t seen my dad’s long-time girlfriend in a while and he hasn’t mentioned her.

With a shake of his head, he says, “No, she left a while back. Said she couldn’t live like this.”

Another person who’d left him. That had to be the escalation trigger. “We’ll fix it this time, Dad. We’ll clean up the house and then we’ll have you talk to someone about everything that goes into living like this,” I say, using my hands to gesture to the hoard. “There are people who can help you work through the issues.”

“I’m not talking to anyone about my problems. They’re mine to worry about.”

And now I understand where I get stubborn about feelings. The man is a vault and I’ve patterned myself after him. The best defense mechanism I could come up with over the past several years.

“Let’s take this one step at a time,” I say.

After a quick inspection of the rest of the house, we start in the bathroom. Toilet roll tubes and moldy, wet towels are all over the place, but it could be worse. That’s what I have to say as I think about the house.

It could be poop all over the walls.

It could be rotting meat left in the fridge.

It could be mold causing the house to deteriorate.

My gag reflex is on point and I have to head out and grab a mask from my car. I’m lucky I grabbed a pack from the store.

My dad picks out his toothbrush and a rubber duck from the bathroom pile.

“Um, Dad, I didn’t think you still played with that,” I say as a joke.

He grins and says, “It’s from when you were small. You and your brothers used to fight over it every time, saying the next one in the tub couldn’t use it.”

The words sober me and I nod. “There wasn’t much we didn’t fight about.”

“True, but the noise meant there were people here, and that’s all I cared about.”

I work for the next three hours pulling out all kinds of wet and dry materials, allowing my dad to see that I’ve only put garbage and items beyond use in the black garbage bags.

Once I’m able to walk in with ease, I move onto the bedroom, hoping to get the main areas at least rid of the clutter. The deep clean part will come later.

The mound next to my dad’s bed is made of ratty blankets and picture frames.

“Dad, do you want to keep any of this?” I ask, making sure to make the piles so he can see exactly what’s there.

He nods and starts folding up the blankets.

I press my palm to his forearm to get him to look at me. “Dad, we have plenty of blankets and more than enough picture frames in the house. These are all broken. What if we get rid of these and get you some new ones?”

I try to be soothing with my words, but his eyes glaze over, looking as though I’ve severely wounded him.

“I’m broken, Mac. That’s why everyone keeps leaving me.” A tear slides down his cheek and my stomach clenches at seeing the vulnerability.

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