Page 6 of Love, Morgan

I groaned. “Oh, god, Dad. Don’t say that. I won’t sleep tonight if you say things like that. Can’t you just drop me off and wish me a safe trip, like regular people?”

“Regular people?” He glanced around comically. “What makes you think there are regular people here?”

“Ugh, Dad,” I whined, feeling like a teenager all over again. “I promise I’ll try something wild like snorkeling if you promise to stop talking about…that.”

He laughed around a spoonful of soup, his deep, brown eyes full of mischief. “Fine. But you also have to promise to talk to people. Make some friends or something.”

“Fine. You got it. Whatever you want.”

I could make friends. I could make promises to make friends like I was five and starting school for the first time. I could do anything to stopmy dadfrom implying I needed to have sex on vacation. Anything at all.

Chapter 3

Morgan

Iscowled at my suitcase as the agent checking me in sent it away on the conveyor belt. After the effort and time I’d put into packing it—abandoned as I was by Ripley—if it didn’t make it to the other side in one piece, I was going to destroy it.

And yes, that included hunting it down if it ended up somewhere I wasn’t. That thing had already cost me sleep, time watching Iona, and my peace of mind. It wasn’t going to get away with deserting me.

The woman behind the counter turned back to me with a smile that faltered only slightly as she watched me stare down my suitcase. “Everything okay?”

I sucked in a breath and plastered on a smile. It wasn’t her I was angry at. It was the suitcase. And Ripley. And her annoyingly distracting wife. “Yes, sorry. Just… hoping I remembered everything.”

That wasn’t true at all. I knew I hadn’t remembered everything. There were only so many outfits I could take in one suitcase for a two-week vacation. Inevitably, some great ones were still sitting at home in my closet. But, it was the kind of thing you were supposed to say in these situations, and I had no interest in terrifying airline staff and being dragged to a back room where I’d be required to explain that I was angry at my suitcase because my best friend had abandoned me for her wife and I’d lost out on time watching my favorite YouTuber because of it.

That didn’t sound nearly logical enough for them to believe it, and then I’d be stuck not going anywhere, and the bag I’d been forced to pack for myself would be entirely irrelevant anyway.

The woman smiled, relaxing again. “Ah, yeah. It happens to the best of us.”

“Indeed.”

I smiled again, taking my passport and boarding pass back from her. I was unsure why I had one. There was already one on my phone. I’d shown it to her when I got here. She wasn’t in charge of the computer system, though, so I wasn’t going to fight it.

“Have a wonderful trip,” she said. It was obviously automatic, but it sounded genuine. She was good at her job and I could respect that. I worked for myself precisely because I hated being on other people’s schedules. The idea of being forced to take tickets, get everyone ready for their vacations, and then send them off with positive wishes while I stayed stuck in the airport sounded like a nightmare.

“Thank you. Have a wonderful day,” I replied, heading off towards security and my favorite doughnut place that I knew lay behind the rows of body scanners.

Alicia had talked at length about the benefits of flying out of regional airports when it came to security lines and, as I joined the line that was only three people long, I couldn’t help but think about how right she was.

Things moved quickly and, before I knew it, I was out and heading straight for the doughnuts.

As I sat with two doughnuts and a caramel latte, full vacation mode finally hit. I could leave the packing and the annoyance behind and give in to two weeks of no work, no stress, and nobody dictating what I had to do.

Not that I had to worry too much about that these days—if you didn’t count Ripley forcing me to do my own packing. It was just one of those thoughts that never went away. When I’d been younger, vacations had always been a week of being unable to get away from babysitting. My parents, too young by far when they’d had me, had picked up having kids again when they were older and supposedly more mature, more responsible.

Somehow, it hadn’t played out like that.

They weren’t more mature in their thirties than they had been as teens. They weren’t more prepared for having children. They weren’t more interested in raising children either. All that had really changed was that they had a teenager they could force the little ones onto. And, without school or work as an excuse to get away from them, vacations had simply been a time to parent for me. Even if the kids I was parenting weren’t mine.

My parents had great vacations, though. They did whatever they wanted. And, when they were hungover from wild nights out, I’d take the kids out and ensure they were having good vacations too.

The only one having a shit vacation was me.

So, once I was an adult and finally free of them, I made sure to grant myself luxury vacations. I worked hard, earned the breaks, and did whatever the hell I wanted on them.

I shook my head, shaking off the old memories and looking away from a parent happily buying doughnuts for their excited kids. That was how Harlow was going to parent in the future, I was certain of it. And how could she not? Years of miscarriages and disappointment before she’d finally had her baby, dragged Alicia back to Jackson Point, and reconnected with me and Ripley—granting her access to the best friend she could ever have. Me, not Ripley. Though Ripley was pretty good too, I supposed.

After all that, she was already the most doting parent in the world. And, if she ever started going off the rails like my parents did, well, I’d get her back on them quick sharp.

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